Five hundred miles
Three tanks of gas
And you are still haunting me
Your books are on my shelf
The movies we watched as well
Your smell in my hair
Your eyes simply everywhere
A catch in my throat
When I hear your words
Then I realize it's my voice
And I curse myself for the sixth time today
So after five hundred miles
And after three tanks of gas
With boxes unpacked
And you're still here
Yet I'm still alone.