You go months without talking to me,
Months that feel like years.
I long to hear your voice.
Then out of the blue,
I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing your name,
Could this really be true?
I thought I was dreaming,
I had to be.
You wouldn't really be talking to me.

You tell me you're depressed,
But no one else knows.
You don't talk about that stuff with him.
But why don't you?
You expect me to still be your emotional support?
You're the one who left me. Remember?

So you can't talk to him about how you feel.
What else do you keep from him?
Does he know your history?
Does he know your little secrets?
Does he know your fears,
Your unwillingness to forgive yourself,
Your perfect imperfections?

How could you be in love with someone
When you can't even tell them how you feel?
I'm not quite sure.
Maybe I really don't know what love is all about.