Isn’t It Too Late?

I heard your footsteps upon the surface on my heart, and my eyes opened in surprise,
It’s been a while since I thought about your eyes,
They used to be always filled with surprise of the unknown kind,
Now there’s nothing there anymore, except the leftover bitter taste of your goodbye.

That’s nice, how you do things you promised you wouldn’t do,
And you never say things you easily could,
I felt the tapping of your fingers on my skin,
It’s only when I opened my eyes that I thought it was a dream,

That’s nice, I thought to myself, maybe now I’ll never be complete,
I hate to have you as a part of my life, but there isn’t much left if I cut you out,
Funny how strangely things end,
when we tried every possible thing to not bend
To the pressure of your parents eyes,
To not run away silently into the night,
The way we wanted to recklessly drive,
and how we promised never to say goodbye.

I heard your knock on my door, but I didn’t open my eyes this time,
False alarms, I said to myself,
And drifted off to sleep, only to awaken with a note taped to the wall in front of me,
“I’m sorry but can we talk? I have missed you more than God even knows. I saw you were asleep, you must be tired, but call me when you awaken, I have a lot to things to explain.”

I heard your footsteps on the floor of my heart,
But isn’t it too late to start over once again?