The one for whom I write does not read.
The one that I would speak with is silent.
I would understand but he prefers mystery.
I would trust but suspicion surfaces.
I long to share the little joys of life with him
But the big ones are eating away at him.
If I turn away then he turns towards.
If I respond he turns away.
We are smothering each other with time
and starving each other of attention.
Yet we love each other so so much
I could not bear a life without his touch.
When I’m with him I want my freedom
When I’m away I want him back.
I see answers as distant as the stars.
He’s thinking of buying a new car.
I would be more open but he hates my honesty.
He wants the pretty lies not the raw passion.
I’ve tried (he too) to be what he wanted
While never fully understanding what he wants.
Is there nothing we have in common
But our love for each other ?
