There are crumbs in the bed,

In the spot where he laid.

And the moon casts a shadow,

Where love once was made.

And the clock shines the hour,

As the night turns to day.

But the sun has no power,

Over what is now gray.

Mascara stains the pillow;

Tiny footprints of pain.

A battle was fought,

Yet nothing was gained.

Each night the moon returns,

And once again casts shade.

Yet the sun also rises,

And the soul refuses to fade.

A yearning stirs gently,

Somewhere deep within her core.

Proof that what was once shattered,

Will live to love once more.