Pain is a language I understand
I’m quite proficient in hurt and pity
I speak them like a native
For years I’ve practiced those tongues
I can read and write in them
I can operate in them daily
...Love though, is a dialect apart,
One I can’t seem to master
The grammar is tricky
The tones are hard to speak
And there is vocabulary I forget
They say you learn better young
Perhaps I’ve grown too old to learn
Perhaps I just need a speaking partner
It seems fruitless to study it any longer
For now I’ll get by on broken phrases