When

She was Whispering softly, Almost like the Murmuring of a tree Soft, gentle, words were All I could hear, yet, I was Smelling A very general story, A polished, fake smile When will we be able to break free? I do not know and I do not want to know A closed door does not mean anything In an alternate way We still try to imagine things , to feed our soul And the story keeps on counting the addition of pages I was listening, I was trying to be a gentle girl As I used to be, and all I can remember now, That I need to learn to read between those lines For tracks of hidden tears, And Overlooked smiles.