She doesn't know, she'll never want to.
Her tears stain another shirt that isn't hers. She's told its fine, but she still feels bad.
She doesn't know why she's crying. Not yet, at least.
but maybe one of these days she'll muster up the courage to ask for the truth,
and she'll have to muster up some more to hear it.
YOU ARE READING
Poems probably
Poetrythe later parts are a lot better than the first ones in my opinion poems and random stuff i want to put on here
