Who is she? What is she?
How can she, do this to me?
Every mention of her name,
Every hint of her trail,
Every source of her news,
A new ray of hope, it gives.
Should I, should I not?
Is all that goes on, in my thought.
I think she knows, for she can read my face,
But of this, she doesn’t show a trace.
Its like we both are waiting,
To see who wins at this (holding back) race.
If I tell her. What might happen?
The future is an aching mystery.
If I don’t. What might not happen?
I don’t want this to be history.
I wonder,
But then remember,
That somewhere sometime I have read,
Somethings are better left unsaid.
