Picking up the pieces

You tell me, as you close the door
you need some time alone.
It's not the words you say that hurt;
the coldness that you've shown
cuts through me like a winter breeze
and makes me feel so low,
as you fight with the demons
of the life you used to know.

I used to think that you would be
my life, my heart, my soul
you'd lift my life and I would long
for you and you alone.
But summer does not last all year
nor, little did I know
could your love for me overcome
the life you used to know.

Now staring at the wooden door
I wonder how to find
the words to break through your cold shell
and get inside your mind.
It doesn't seem to make a difference
what I say or do,
I'm picking up the pieces
of a life I never knew.