Too important are the words I long to say to you for far too long do they lie buried in my heart so why do they only surface from the lake of my subconsciousness when we are far apart?
Why do such things stand like crumbling landmarks that life's time and tide can wash too swiftly away why can I go and buy you gifts and yet still find hardest all those words that I need to say?
And why, when those words do erupt like molten magma why, when my face, my eyes, my desperation betray do those who should listen, not just stare at me blank their eyes and turn dismissively away?
I should be allowed to tell of my own heartache for is it not there in my dreams, and in my very soul so why when I open the book of my revelations can you not stay, not listen, not make me whole?
Let me tell you how I feel, let you not my secret heartaches, my secret dreams deny or steal fix upon me your eyes, listen to the words I tell and then, only then will you truly know me well