Don’t think, my dear, that I am crying for you.
I haven’t been crying for the endless ages.
You’re just among the undiscovered pages,
The dead-end of a funny riddle to do.
I cannot cry, alas, for anyone
Except myself. Although it makes me suffer
That you don’t see my tears, don’t hear my laughter,
And I have never seen you come undone.
I cannot take you seriously, my love.
You are the hope which is in fact so hopeless
That makes me smile. But foremost it’s the only
Excuse for stupid tears, and that’s enough.
I wouldn’t have felt a stranger as I do
If you had taken different direction.
I only cry for our fates not matching.
Don’t think, my dear, that am crying for you.
Not Crying for You
© Copyright: Lancelot, 2019
Свидетельство о публикации №119082608294
Свидетельство о публикации №119082608294
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