Rerun

Time and again I say that I'm not gonna wait for you. That it's not worth it, or it's just not gonna happen. I make believe that I had the strength and that I've moved on. But seeing a photograph of you, of us, of how we were before, just makes me want to time travel and repeat those memories...

How pissed I always get when I arrive and you're not there, but one "Hi" gets me frantically looking for my boots.
How you used to call me and sing "Hey There Delilah" and replace the name with Katrina.
How I felt so much like a kid making snowballs and throwing them at you.
How for the first time I sang karaoke and didn't feel self-conscious coz I'm with you.
How I always fall asleep on the passenger seat on our way home.
How I bought new curtains and linens to surprise you with your redecorated room.
How you forgot to file for a leave on our anniversary.
How I wondered why you never cry, and how I cried so much the first time you did.
How you told me what you had to say, and it numbed me for months.
How you showed up three days later at our doorstep--halfway across the world.

And a rerun of the heartaches would just be okay, and maybe now I'll decide differently.