This doesn't look as good as it seems, you know.
You keep me sane for a week or two, the next you disappear like some mist. Some smoke, some cloud. Without a trace.
I listen, pay attention, take note of the things you need rather than the things you want - and I'm undoubtedly good at it.
And you pretend I don't exist when I need you the most. Thank you.
Every waking day you break my heart, knowing that you don't reach out - or even plan to. I love you, and loved you all along. Will that change? Not anytime soon. So don't think this comes easy for me. Because it doesn't.
I'd rather live in silence, blind to what keeps your ego puffed. I don't know what you write about, nor have an idea what or who keeps you preoccupied today. I don't want to know about it tomorrow, or whenever soon. Because I don't play a part in any of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment