You say your heart is breaking,
But how could I possibly know?
Why blame me if I do not see
The love you say you show?
Your claims are just like whispers;
They're spoken but not heard
You see me and you smile
How can I see you're hurt?
They say that hearts can bleed;
Well, mine is flowing too
It's burning me and killing me
From my not knowing you
I wish you would just tell me
Instead of keeping it a lie
'Cause the poem that you wrote for me
Just made me want to cry
I don't care who it is that wrote it;
Just tell me who you are
I promise I will love you always
And accept you as you are
Please.
That was the last poem he read before the radio show clicked off.
And all he could do was stare at the walls of his tent.
He knew he should tell her. He knew he should, he knew.
Go to her window now, and tell her, tell her he loved her.
Tell her now.
But of course he couldn't; he knew he wouldn't; he knew he shouldn't, he knew.
It was another sleepless night.
