I realize something,
as I feel… strange—
a love like you.

You did that too.
I once knew,
saw more than I do.

Once… twice…
three times too late.

The rest doesn’t matter.
Because now I see—
that love shaped me.

But I can’t be.
I hide myself in shame;
that’s what it became.

It’s all a game…
walking in and out of fame.

Isn’t that… lame?