I once asked her why,
She always wore black,
And she asked me,
What I would do,
If someone I loved died.
And when I asked her who,
She stared down at her hands,
And whispered,
“The girl I use to be.”
I once asked her why,
She always wore black,
And she asked me,
What I would do,
If someone I loved died.
And when I asked her who,
She stared down at her hands,
And whispered,
“The girl I use to be.”
Perfectly Imperfect Me 