I cannot tell you anything.
How to think, how to feel, how to love.
All I can do is whisper it in your ear and hope that you listen.
I can drop hints, tell secrets so that they are no longer secrets but common knowledge and no one understands them.
I could tell you that I love you, the saccharine smile you give me, the
sanguine of your hair after you’ve dyed it (again) in the sunlight.
I could drop bits like a trail
of reeses pieces,
but you wouldn’t notice, would you?
But you certainly saw the tears like diamonds in the corners of my eyes.
You asked what was wrong, if you could help.
You couldn’t, I whispered.
You were the problem.