Some nights my mind is restless
and I'll wake up feeling drained.
Although I hate it when this happens,
last night I dreamt of you again.
I know it's pointless to linger on
what was and might have been.
Our time was just a winter sun -
golden sweet and sure to end.

How are dreams so accurate?
It's wild, how true they capture it -
this little thing that eats at me,
my constant, secret shame.
If our deeds are louder than our words,
and words just serve to reaffirm,
then, on my life, I don't know why
all I can hear today
are the words you wouldn't say.

Remember how we used to drive
down quiet, lonesome roads
because we only felt the world was right
when we were free and all alone?
Choked off behind your perfect lips,
but suggested by your laugh,
was an answer you would never give
to something I would never ask.

It was subtle, only hinted at,
that thing that burned us both.
But in the air between us sat
the truth I needed most.
They never came, I never heard
those simple, insufficient words.
And still today I feel the weight
of what you'd never say.