People tell me everything and I say nothing.


Late night talks filled with secrets and
  bittersweet  sorrow.

The stars tell me their stories,
and I tell them    nothing     of it.

The moon whispers
   words of
       worried
           regret,
never once asking mine.

I hear the sky’s gossip and thoughts of
    wilful      sadness,
and the wind chimes in with the
    sound     of      anguish.


But I am okay.


      This is the façade I’ve grown into.


Sometimes I wish for an ear,
          to listen to what I hear,
     to keep what I want kept,
  to no longer be the Keeper.


But I am okay.