I came home to you every day and found new things to explore with you.
I don't like that there's no mail on Sundays.
Every day you go to your mailbox
Expecting to find magazines, letters, and everything in between.
But on Sundays, you forget that it's Sunday.
You go to your mailbox,
Expecting to find a bill or a birthday card.
But you find nothing.
Just like you.
I came home to you every day
And found new things to explore with you.
Then one day I came home to find nothing.
I was empty, like a mailbox on Sunday.
Now every day is like Sunday for me.
I forget that you're gone and still expect to find you waiting for me at home.
I find nothing.
I receive nothing from you.
Not even a bill or a birthday card.