It sucks being the one person who is always there. We see all but are never seen. Hold them while they cry but are never held. We are always let down but are always dependable. True to the end. We are the ones who die of broken hearts. We are the ones who die alone and forgotten.
They don’t miss us until we are gone. And what they miss isn’t real. They never wanted to get to know the truth, because it wasn’t important enough. Silent superhero’s. Silent screams. Silent. Silent. Silent.
Our silence will echo on in eternity. The unanswered call. The ignored song. Silence. The quiet you hear when we are gone, it is not just our absence. It is everything we have ever suffered through and never said a word about.
It is everything about us, you refused to notice. We carry all the burdens but refuse to be one. Remember us in the quiet. The thing you so dread because everything comes together. Acknowledge us. That is all we ask.
Then perhaps our actions will become part of the song too. Worth loving. Worth listening and admiring. We see all but are unseen. Love but are unloved. Hear but aren’t heard.
Admire but know no admiration. We are the silent spectators. See our blood. See our dreams.
You were like a prince to me. No more. Some thing magical. With your dark hair long and wavy. Your face seemed to be carved with the patience of a thousand years. Your eyes taken special care of, made watery and soulful.
Dark with mystery and mischievousness. Everything about you sang to my heart. Beautiful. Have you ever beheld something so wondrous and beautiful. And my heart sank right then, Overwhelmed. I wanted to touch you. Like dancing fire.
I wanted to feel the magic that was animated by air. I am no DustFinger. I do not have fairy to sing you to my fingertips and make you stay forever. So I admire from a distant such warmth and amazement.
You are God’s grace and reverence. I am the spectator. I do love beautiful things.