She's told me about
every man that's gone to bed with her.
That in itself should tell me
I don't stand a chance.
Sometimes I think
she doesn't even see me as a man,
that somehow I've become
a sounding board to help her
figure out her problems
and her confusions, never to be
more than that. And all this time
I've been happy to oblige.
But last night as I lay
in an empty bed, waking up
to find myself clutching
a pillow to fill my empty arms,
I realized that being a human diary
doesn't fulfill my own needs
and worrying about her future
is doing harm to mine.
So let me step away for now
and let her figure things out.
I need to lose myself in someone else,
a lover who'll fill up my essence.