The Impossible
The Impossible
I try so hard to understand the man behind your mask worn,
the man inside separated from the character you play in the world,
you make me wait testing my patience to the absolute limit,
and then all I receive is a single sentence cruel and bare.
I can see that you're not really as busy as you always pretend,
I ask but then you call me stupid and dramatic and strange,
you have no time or words for me today or tomorrow or ever,
I suppose I should leave go my way disappear once again.
I struggle to seem like I don't care to hide my pain under a smile,
remaining silent is such a solitary and cold business like ice,
I feel so deeply but I must never show anything at all,
it's not something you're eager to know or discover ever about me.
The eggshells I walk on are fragile like butterfly wings delicate,
I tiptoe so as not to undress you of your protective layers,
but this makes my heart so heavy like a stone in my chest,
wondering if you'll ever truly be ready to open up for real.
For now I must silence my affection and swallow it down,
triggers are thrown in all directions like landmines scattered,
to do nothing say nothing as quickly as possible always,
and yet my soul yearns for the impossible that kills me slowly.
The man behind the tape behind your public character is a mystery,
a labyrinth in which I lose myself every time I try to enter,
you test my patience as if I were a laboratory animal trapped,
throwing me cruel sentences like bones thrown to a hungry dog.
I see you're not busy but you pretend you have no time for me,
you call me stupid when I dare to ask why you've forgotten me,
you have no words for me today tomorrow or in the near future,
and I should leave disappear make myself invisible and forgotten.
But how to leave when my heart is caught in your invisible net,
when I struggle to seem indifferent though I hurt in every cell,
my silence is a solitary prison where I sit alone and cold,
feeling so deeply things you never want to know about ever.
The eggshells I walk on break with every wrong step taken,
I tiptoe like a dancer on a wire above the abyss below,
so as not to disturb you not to make you shed your defenses,
but in this delicate dance my heart grows heavier and more withered.
I wonder if you'll ever be ready to receive my love freely,
or will I always walk on eggshells waiting for a moment that never comes,
for now I must silence my affection like a voice crying out,
suffocate it in my chest until it transforms into dull chronic pain.
Triggers are thrown everywhere like hidden traps awaiting,
a wrong word a wrong move a wrong look and everything explodes,
so I learn to do nothing say nothing not exist at all,
to become a transparent phantom who doesn't disturb and asks for nothing.
But even so even becoming invisible and silent and nonexistent,
my soul yearns for the impossible that keeps me awake at night,
for your version that would open up for the man behind the mask,
for the love that doesn't have to walk on eggshells always fragile.
The impossible that my soul is in love with is a sweet-bitter torture,
because I know you'll never be ready to receive what I offer,
you'll never be ready to take off your armor and let me inside,
you'll never be ready to stop making me walk on tiptoes forever.
And yet I remain here waiting and silencing my affection daily,
struggling to seem like I don't care though my heart bleeds slowly,
walking on fragile eggshells and wondering when they'll all shatter,
while my soul yearns for your impossible always unreachable forever.
Your cruel sentence is all I get after hours of heavy waiting,
you call me stupid when I dare to ask for more than nothing,
you have no time no words nothing to offer today or tomorrow,
and I should leave but I stay here yearning for the fatal impossible.
The impossible of seeing you without a mask of hearing you without cruelty,
the impossible of walking without fear of speaking without angering you,
the impossible of being loved simply and clearly without tests and trials,
the impossible that my soul yearns for even if it kills me slowly still.
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