I've described this feeling a hundred times,
In nearly a hundred different ways,
But even after about a hundred days (Has it really been that long now?)
I'm falling short of what I want to say,
The words slip through my hands,
Like fine grains of sand,
Falling hundreds at a time,
Till not one of them remains...
You were the apple that fell from the tree,
My shooting star in this catastrophe,
Yet, even a hundred miles away,
You've found a way to make me think of you,
Constantly, effortlessly, modestly.
For a hundred nights I've sat here,
Hoping, wishing, waiting,
Trying to make you somehow appear...(It hurts every time...)
My heart could scream and never make a sound,
A hundred more tears could roll down my face,
And I'll still be asking that same question, (Caught in place)
The same one I've asked myself a hundred times,
Why wasn't I this way before...why?
There are a hundred reasons to stay
A hundred reasons not to walk away,
But all I'll need is one...(Cliche')
