so you may not be the kinda guy
who'll sit there and hug me as i cry.
and you might not even find
the whole idea of being consoling remotely kind.
so you may not be the kinda guy
who'll pop around and just pop by.
and you might not even find
that when i accuse you of something that you're tongue-tied.
and now i know you're not the kinda guy
who'll sing with me to fireflies.
and i can't believe i didn't find
that you didn't care about me, i turned a blind eye.
whilst studying an inspector calls by JB Priestley, i found Sheila and Gerald's relationship a pretty good muse for some poetry. so here it is: a poem written from Sheila Birling's point of view towards her ex-fiance, Gerald Croft.
