intent on coming clean

unfolding with the scene

and on the paper waded and tossed on the floor

she idles by and counts

the days while pressure mounts

sick with regret and fearing all tomorrow

doors once open now are shut

maybe they're not locked yet, but

do you wonder?

is it too late?

was it worth it?

was it so great?

do you wonder how different everything might have been?

and could it be again?

i can't know how you feel

no wisdom to reveal

but it's hard to see you bearing all this by yourself

won't condescend to you

there's nothing i can do

for what it's worth, though, you can make it through this

broken heart and broken will

and you're not broken yet, but still

disappointed, i confess

but i don't love you any less