I drive a new path so I won't have to pass the place where you first held my hand and I'm just trying to get back to normal not too stiff too formal what do I do with my hands
Now I'm drifting through our regular store pretending I'm not wishing you behind every door and I can't remember what my words were good for now I don't get to say I love you anymore
I'm swimming back to shore just trying to keep your memory from washing over me and oh I'm sure I'll find my voice once more but what are words good for If I don't get to say I love you anymore
I try not to be distracted by the absence of your coat thrown on my floor but every part of me can't help but see the places you should be the spaces in between our words
rain soaked cobblestone the streets you walked me home your pictures on my phone (and I don't get to say I love you anymore)
storm swept in your name and covered me with rain now nothing feels the same now I don't get to say I love you anymore