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?