You never tell me anything
Except what I don’t want to hear
When I don’t want to hear it.
You never say “I love you”
Except when you’ve hurt me
Or when I say it first.
You never apologize for anything
Until you get caught in the act
And you have no other choice.
You never explain your actions
Unless you think it will get you sympathy
Or make me forgive you faster.
So whenever you tell me “the whole story”
Or whisper tearfully that you love me
While spilling secrets, and apologies galore
I can’t help but sit quietly and wonder
What you could have possibly done this time
To make you treat me like I actually matter?
How bad a mistake did you have to make
To see me as deserving of an explanation?
As worthy of your guilt-driven affection?
What kind of sin could deserve this penance?
How big of a screw-up could make hell freeze over
And the earth turn upside-down?
And how long will this bizarre, miraculous state persist
After I give in and forgive you
Again, one more time?