u/Massive_Party6461

A play so beautiful, I remember every note.

A tone so silent, it spoke into me—

not loudly, no… but in a way I could not escape.

I felt what others couldn’t;

I saw the tears behind that beautiful smile,

and perhaps I had no right to see them at all.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Maybe I see too clearly—

and in seeing, I take something that was never meant for me.

Maybe that’s why you can’t choose me over him.

Not because I lack anything…

but because I understand too much.

Your mother seems to like me.

Your father makes me feel proud—

more than my own ever did—

and still, it changes nothing.

I know myself.

Give this to me, and I would ruin it—

not out of cruelty, but out of the weight I carry.

I know how fragile your heart is,

and I cannot live with being the reason it breaks.

So I won’t interfere.

If that is how you feel, I will accept it—

not peacefully… but honestly.

The tone I carried matched the song you performed.

It had no name—only a feeling that lingered where it should not.

It was always yours.

And this—

this is mine.

You never were

I have seen beauty before,

but never one that felt like a punishment.

It is a cruel thing—

to recognize something meant for another man.

You laugh, and I watch,

not with jealousy…

but with the quiet understanding

that I was never meant to be the reason.

He speaks, and it is enough.

I think, and it is too much.

We stood side by side once—

equal in our foolishness,

both sick from the same poison,

both laughing at nothing…

yet even there,

something in you leaned toward him.

Tell me—what is lacking in a man

who feels everything,

yet cannot turn it into a single word

that would make you stay?

I have listened to your music—

not as others do,

but as one listens to a confession.

I hear the tears you hide inside the notes.

He will never hear them.

And perhaps that is why you love him.

Because men like me

do not make you laugh—

we make you understood.

And that…

is a heavier thing to carry.

You hide your tears

instead of giving them a voice.

And I wonder—

if silence is easier

than being understood.

It is almost tragic.

Your mother speaks to me kindly.

Your father looks at me with approval.

In another life,

that might have meant something.

But it is not them I search for—

it is you.

And you…

remain just far enough

to be felt,

but never reached.

Mr.Madness