Pieces of the Past

I thought I was a writer, that I could write the script
And every word I made you say sounded stale out of your lips
But I still wrote and you still read along
I didn’t want to walk away from all that we had built
So I sat silently in my guilt
While you danced, I stood still
Holding on, pieces of the past
And how, my God, did I think it could last?
When I’ve seen the work my hands have done
And I found I was the wrong one
My youth blinded me to all that you had felt
Though what was never considered were the cards that I’d been dealt
But you still played and I was torn
Well, I saw where the line was, but I clearly walked across
And the look on your face made my stomach turn and toss
'Cause I knew that you were lost
Holding on, pieces of the past
And how, my God, did I think it could last?
When I’ve seen the work my hands have done
And I found I was the wrong one
In the summer I’ll be married, and your family will have grown
And the words of forgiveness that we never spoke
Will be known, will be known