For the umpteenth time I find myself trying to diagnose my own ailment

And for another round I think I’ve identified the affliction

My dilemma is that I’m a chronic grave robber

Time and time again I dig up the Simone that once was

I sit with her and pray that her time isn’t be up, that she’s got to come back

She never hit her peak, she never got to reap what she sewed

Again and again I’m convinced that I’ve found a way to resuscitate her

But her life has come and gone

I haven’t quite figured out how to manage what is, so fixated on what was

How can I give my now a chance to prove herself?

In reality, what has she really got to prove?

I’m much better friends with what was

So loyal to her that I’ve neglected the she that is

But it’s time to let go because they can’t both live, but they can both die

One is enough, one will be enough

I rejoice that I knew and was the Simone of the past

And I’m learning to rejoice that I can be and will be the Simone of now