If you find something I write, I see it in your wrinkled up frown.
When you find something I write, I wonder why your eyes stop timing.
As you find something I’ve written, am I wrong to assume your heart stops to listen?
An act showing definite negatives…
Yet my heart believes those positives;
Explanation of this frustration claims an understanding for the frustration of knowing your not knowing;
Attempting to solve and then attempting again,
You’d think seeing on paper was clear enough.
It’s simple to say you’ll never quite know once you realise the words are mine and not hers.
I guess what I’m trying to say is when your eyes are the reader of my words,
The picture on the canvas is it’s own unique complexion.