Sometimes I Stop Recognising, the heart that beats

below the skin that doesnt feel like mine


Sometimes I Stop Remembering, the smell of the hair

that falls on no other shoulders but mine


Sometimes I Am Startled By, the colour of the eyes

that search for me behind the reflection that doesnt lok like mine

Perhaps too many days passed, where i forgot to search for her
in that maze of a body that long ago was mine
now home to a stranger, the girl who answers to the name that was mine,
Where is the Girl ? the Girl who lived my past. The past that wasmine.



Sometimes I Stop Recognising, the feet that walked the steps,
in time to a rhythym that doesnt feel like mine


Sometimes I Stop Remembering The Shape Of The Lips,

that spoke the words that don't sound like mine


Sometimes I Am Startled By..
how careless i was to let go of her hand,

the hand that once was mine....