intent on coming clean   unfolding with the scene   and on the paper waded and tossed on the floor   she idles by and counts   the days while pressure mounts   sick with regret and fearing all tomorrow   doors once open now are shut   maybe they're not locked yet, but   do you wonder?   is it too late?   was it worth it?   was it so great?   do you wonder how different everything might have been?   and could it be again?   i can't know how you feel   no wisdom to reveal   but it's hard to see you bearing all this by yourself   won't condescend to you   there's nothing i can do   for what it's worth, though, you can make it through this   broken heart and broken will   and you're not broken yet, but still   disappointed, i confess   but i don't love you any less