When I know –

how can I know? –

Of what you’ve been through
I tend to feel sorry
Only feeling the extent
Of what I can imagine.

When you tell me

how can you tell me? –

of all that’s come to past,
my imagination stops
does not even comprehend.

When I help

how can I help? –

You begin to live your life
Do you resent me for knowing how so well?
Do you pity me for my naiveté?
Do you hate me for never
Never being able to understand?
Or can you forgive me
For my meager help from these two hands?


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