Say You Love Me

Every time I stopped you hit go. Every time I went in the other direction you spun me around. It’s my fault for walking too slowly. It’s my fault for listening. But shouldn’t you have known that it would never be okay? Shouldn’t you have known that it wasn’t okay to invite me over but never invite me in? I’ll always be on the outside looking in. And we’ll be pretending that we’re the friends we really aren’t. You’ll always say too little and I’ll always say too much. You’ll call me names that you shouldn’t and I’ll believe in you. Shouldn’t I know that I’ll only be looking through the window of your life? And you’ll only acknowledge and remember me when you feel like it. Right up until the time you find someone you can actually grasp, even if that someone doesn’t see you as I deep as I have. But who am I? It’s my fault, really. All the bits and pieces that I collected along the years, I keep putting them together trying to see you more clearly. I want to believe that I know you and you know me. But the only thing I know is what you want me to. And sometimes I’m tempted to ask deeper questions but I never do. In a way, not knowing paints a clearer picture of you. I know exactly who you are not. I know you shouldn’t call me the name you used to call me. When you say it I feel a connection that you cut a long time ago. I guess you’re my favorite magician, making love and interest appear where it isn’t. There’s no magic here, only illusions. I know it’s my fault. I didn’t have to believe anything. I didn’t have to entertain my feelings or remind you of anything. I didn’t have to say hello every time you did. And I don’t have to say goodbye, the way you never did.