Maybe there are promises that I haven't kept. Could be that I've got dreams, undreamed so far. I spend time prying open my heart, little by little. Then she leaves and it's busted into a million little pieces. Again.
Me? Turns out I'm the confessor. The only one I can tell doesn't have time to listen.
Doesn't much matter. I seem to have lost the ability to speak when she's around.