There have been times I waited patiently
And bit my tongue, insisting that no wrong
Could ever have accrued by you to me,
No matter what the cause or for how long
It had been aching, times when I was sure
That any slight or fault could not have grown
From your intention, which was always pure
And therefore must in some way be my own,
When I was certain everything you did
Was as it should be, ultimate, ideal,
And those small things that you obscured or hid
Were unimportant, or somehow unreal.
But no I see with different eyes and know
You're human, though I wished it wasn't so.
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