If tears were red,
they'd have seen —
my white pillow stained by morning,
red marks blooming on the bedsheet,
on my face,
on my shirt.
My eyes, still puffy,
still red
from the bleeding of the night before —
not from wounds,
but from weeping.
Eyes not meant to bleed,
yet they did.

And still,
no one noticed
the colourless blood I’ve spilled.

It's a wonderful thing to love,
And to be loved,

But how terrible it can be,
To love,
And to be loved.

It's the way you speak
About having your heart broke
That breaks mine
Knowing I can't help
And I just have to wait
Till you realize
I'm the one
That will treat you right