He poured his heart out to me,
Like torrents of rain on a gloomy Friday night in the countryside
I was young and naive, vulnerable and fragile
Cynical, I never was.
Trust, love, second chances and faith were the food to my soul,
without those, I was as good as a withered rose.
He poured her heart out to me, he poured it all out.
Naive as I was, useless and too trustful,
Gullible and fragile, I took his word for it.
I've hated, I've scorned, I've been angered for his sake.
I've cursed and I've hurt; I've provoked for his sake.
I've lied and I've cried each time I blamed myself for his misery.
I never loved myself enough to think, to believe, to imagine
That I could be a good and worthy person - oh no.
Then he poured his heart out while I sat there and listened.
The dark clouds, a symbol of the storm that was fast approaching,
Were merely some cute fluffy grey clouds to me.
How was I to know that it was a sign? How was I to know?
As vulnerable as I was, he entrusted me with important information.
He toasted me with his cries like I was a piece of bread, waiting to be devoured
He even buttered me both ways, and in one bite, I was gone.
Young as I was, I listened to his story.
Young as I was, I listened to his story.
'Believe me' I heard him say, and I took it all in like a helpless child.
But if I had listened more carefully, I would have heard him whisper softly in the shadows of the night,
'Believe me, I'm lying...'
20 July 2012
20 July 2012