Is it strange that I want you to see,
The thoughts I share, the secrets in me?
They're sad, you know, and too honest too,
Yet something in me wants to show them to you.
You say you know me, but I donât agree,
No one truly does, not entirely.
But something in you makes me feel less unknown,
Even when I doubt, even when Iâm alone.
You say Iâm special, but I doubt it still,
Replaceable, fading. I always will.
But you insist, promise itâs not true,
And somewhere deep down, I hope you prove it too.
I donât write this much, itâs unlike me,
But with you, the words come easily.
You spark something deeper, a quiet flame,
And though I can't fall, Iâm moved just the same.
You tell me I make you better somehow,
I canât help but ask, why? Why now?
You talk of change, of wanting more
To sing, to breathe, to open new doors.
But itâs not for me, you gently confess,
Itâs for you, yet with me, itâs effortless.
And though I canât promise Iâll always see,
Iâll hold on to what youâve awakened in me.
Youâre good for me, though I canât explain,
In your words, I find comfort through the pain.
Not perfect, not polished, but real, you see,
In this strange, sad honesty.