A Bar In New York City
You said I don’t know what you’re like when you’re drinking,
And I thought about how I don’t know what you’re like at all.
I never knew I could hide so many secrets
From someone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
Bursting at the seams,
But you never noticed anything.
I never told you about the bartenders in New York
And how I knew I was flirting.
I didn’t feel guilty at all.
(I still don’t)
I never told you how I split a shot with one of them,
Two straws in one tiny drink.
A photo on his timeline,
Reason #666 why he loved his job.
I never told you that sometimes I enjoyed drinking,
Because I never did with you.
There was the actor in St. Louis I almost cheated on you with.
You were on another continent.
But even when you were next to me,
I was still alone.
You never would have known
Because I never would have told you.
You didn’t see the importance of talking to me every day,
So I didn’t see a reason to tell you anything.
The summer you spent in Chicago,
I had four different train boyfriends keeping me company during my commute.
You never asked how my day was going,
And I really needed someone to talk to.
I cried to them,
And they listened.
One told me that you didn’t love me.
I wish I knew if he was right.
One day, I cried and the conductor didn’t even take my ticket;
I guess sad girls get free rides these days.
Why were strangers more aware of my emotions
Than you?
I talked to anyone who would listen;
What I would have given for just once
For it to have been you.
