every now, then again

i'd whisper, dear, in your heart, yes, but
i couldn't ever think it's me, or at the
very least
i'm fairly certain it's always
someone else you'd rather give the
chance, the
privilege to, as it usually
stands, so i'll just go
on, give up, fidgeting, trying to
forget what it was that i was thinking
and hang mine in the clouds,
where
it's always been.