I know that it's something I shouldn't tell you,
I know that I'm supposed to keep it to myself.
(I know that I seldom keep to myself the things that they want me to.)

I know that it won't make a difference,
I know that it'll still be just the same.
(I know that things don't change when you speak them, it only seems so.)

An unfinished thought-
there it lies.
Less is more, they say.
(I want to extend upon it, but they wouldn't want that, of course.)

I want to tell you,
I want to share it with you.
(I often want things that I cannot have.)

I want to put more,
I don't want to leave you guessing.
(I have already put too much, I suppose they will say.)

I wanted to tell you something,
I wanted to share it with you.
I wanted you to laugh, I wanted you to cry.
(I know that I want things that I cannot have.)

Instead, it's lost.
Instead, it's gone.
Instead, it forever lies enclosed within two black curves, never to be found.