The unspoken knowledge
is not something
that I've grown in favor to.
Thinking that you feel,
Hoping that you feel,
Knowing in my heart
that you're really not real
All of this seems
so unreasonable to be true.
The dreams prosper
when I try, and
sometimes you'll even
show a glimpse (yes, there's that glimpse)
of longing in return.
Do you not think,
Do you not hope,
do you not know
of the triumphate love
that I speak of?
And then it's not
really speech at all,
but the mere denial
of the loving
I will portray
through my words.
On paper, you know me not,
and in reality, I feel for the truth.