The Sentence I Took Home

The bus was late; the road was full of rain,

You drew a crooked heart upon the glass;

I watched it blur and vanish down the pane,

And wished that stupid evening wouldn't pass.

You asked me what was wrong. I said, “I'm fine,”

A phrase I've used for every kind of fear;

The bus turned left. Your sleeve brushed against mine,

And suddenly the truth was almost here.

The truth is not some finely scripted scene;

No music waits to tell us what to do.

I'm frightened of the silence in between

My saying it, and hearing back from you.

So if one day I manage, let it land;

I won't ask you to say you love me too.

Whatever comes, I hope you'll understand:

I wasn't asking. I was telling you.