For I can't say it to you-

I write for you to read
I write for I want to write
I write thinking that it would make myself more clear to you
I write hoping that it would be more clear to you
I write wishing that you would understand
I write wondering why you came home
I write wondering if you would change
I write thinking of whether it was all my fault
I write because there is nothing more I can do

somewhere between homes, we find that space to kiss
somewhere in hidden grounds we manage to make ourselves feel better
and we think that with it everything will fall back to being normal
when we play games, you and I,
we know that it brings us a spring of hope,
that maybe the magic of the moment can be held within our hands
but then the moonlight fades away and you and I are strangers once again
until we find that space again.
do we do this until the light forgets to disappear?
or do we do this until we let our hearts fall apart
in my heart I blanked you off as black and white
I put you in a hollow, for me you were not.
but then I see myself in pages of stories and I wonder if
I shouldn't see it all in that way,
because maybe ....
...just maybe you feel that way too.