Soft whispers
do not echo
but fade
into the night.

Words lost
on the plains,
swept with the wind.

I want to hear them
but cannot.
They are the kind
spoken behind
closed doors.
Questionable misgivings.
Rearrangement of thoughts.

Do they know what’s better for you?
Surely they know all parts
of the story.
Every angle and plot.

They understand you.
Smile at you.
Befriend you.
Tightening their knots.

Of course,
the real answer you already know.
Letting you go would be a tragic affair.
For cutting the bind would bore them so.
No fun at all it would be,
actually treating a person as whole.


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