The truth is
The phone rings and no one would answer.
And in honesty, it was probably heard when it rang.
The truth is
Though I've written about it before,
It still wasn't written honestly.
The truth is
I might have been in love
But only in love with what once was possible,
But would have never been.
So maybe that's why I can't sleep.
Maybe that's why I still keep the secrets, buried steep
In stern silence.
Yet with no rewards to reap.