If you try to sing her to sleep,
You'll never sing in the right tune.
And don't even get me started
On when it comes to bringing her
Flowers on a bad day. Because if you loved her a fraction of the way I do,
You would know that she desires flowers,
Because of how they remind her
Of her mother's funeral.
Or how she can't drink her tea too hot,
Because of how she severely burned her tongue
That time her grandmother made her milk
A little too warm when she was a child.
But most of all, I despise
How she might let you in, and fool her not a heartbreak she was never prepared for,
Because I too, know how that once felt.
And till this day, I have not quite recovered.
