At times, I sit and wonder.
When I see you, when I hear from you, when I revisit my past.
I don't have much to say, I don't have much to complain.
If ever, I get a chance to speak to you, face to face, heart to heart, all I wanna ask is:
Why couldn't you love me, as much as you loved him?
Was I difficult? Was I unruly? Am I?
Did you for once, stared into my eyes, and saw an evil you feared to resonate with?
Did you see, that I couldn't possibly love someone, who didn't love me back?
Therein, lies the vicious cycle of grief.
When I look at your fragility, the brittleness of life, the nature of death; When I put my arms around you, and feel the bony spindle of sickness, wasting away like winter on an autumn's leaf; It hurts me more to place my heart close to yours, and know that it'll never beat for me.
That's all I want to ask you.
What would you say?
That's all I want to know.
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