My mother asked me:  
"What was he thinking?"
"What did he see?"
I couldn't tell her.
I couldn't speak.
I wanted the words to fall.
I wanted them to be free.
I couldn't think.
I just kept staring.
Blankly.
Hoping the moment would pass me by.
And that my mother wouldn't ask me why.
"What does he think of you?"
Why don't you ask him?
God knows I don't know.
Everything's a question,
up in the air.
Everything's uncertain.
Everything's unfair.
He keeps on sleeping.
And I keep on dreaming.
It reoccurs to me,
that somehow I keep breathing.
I can't be the only one who doesn't know we don't exist.
Who feels we've lost ahold of this.
My mother asked me.
I couldn't tell her.
I couldn't speak.
Will you tell me
so I can tell her
what you think?