Tell me a story, friend,

in the empty watches of the night

where only you and I exist on this perilous edge.

But don’t, don’t tell me about the tears in my eyes

or the bruises on your lips

or why I do not sleep at night.

Don’t, don’t tell me about the darkness in every day

and how the only thing you desire anymore, sweet sleep,

is the only thing to evade you.

Don’t tell me about the stains on the driveway

or the furrows on your shoulders

or the desperate awful truth in the nightmares.

Don’t tell me about all of this.

Don’t tell me,

don’t tell me,

it lives inside me; it is a story that is told

every day in the unchanging sorrow of our lives.

Tell me, darling, tell me,

how we’ll find love in some morning beyond this place;

or how happy we were, once upon a sunlit day.

Tell me, darling, tell me,

how hope will come like a bird flitting through the night;

or how joy used to wave across the sky like a banner.

but whatever you tell me, my love-

don’t tell me about today.