Weeks have passed,
Yet I don't remember one.
I could've seen you there,
Or maybe I never reminded myself.
But now I know,
These weeks have passed.
Your face blurred into more of the same,
From the twisting of my neck-
Forced to stay within the picture frame,
Though my recollection would never recall it.
My eyes were as scattered as a delusion,
One so persuasive;
One I would care to sweep from my mind.
But how would I know?
Why should I know?
Why do I want to know?
"Time is the key,
And to hold it would open everything."
Weeks have passed and I've found apparently nothing.
I've never felt so sober,
Heaven must be upon it's way;
"All of those days
have turned into weeks.
You were probably there-"
But time tells a different story.
