The Weight of Unsaid Things

I loved her more than just a friend, my heart laid bare and true, And told her so, time and again, in shades of hopeful blue. She'd act as if she understood, a flicker in her eye, Sometimes a "maybe," "okay, a chance," beneath a passing sky. I called her divine, a whisper in the air, But she'd brush it off, "Stop that," with an almost careless stare. As if the truth I spoke aloud, was something she couldn't own, And in that quiet disbelief, I'd watch her drift, alone. I asked if she was pulling back, she'd simply just deny, Yet the space between us stretched and grew, beneath my watchful eye. I made sure that she knew my heart, was hers, right from the start, A gift I offered, whole and real, tearing my world apart. But she didn't care how I truly felt, or the yearning in my soul, Just another guy, I came to know, playing a familiar role. When I finally asked about me, if I held any part, She said her conscience and her heart, were silent on my art. And in that stark and empty truth, a bitter knowing came, After all that I had given, I was still nothing but a name.