Art of Life (02)

I stand here, as though from the other side of the glass.
Like on the outside looking in.
I see me, a years-ago me, when I look at you.
The me that was an eager child in love.
Younger. Naive. Stupid even.

It irritates me so much to have so many things to say that are "unmentionable".
History is repeating itself,
Just not to me. But to you.
I cannot protect you. You wouldn't listen. I know you won't.
Why is this happening again? Why are you letting it happen?
Didn't you see how my life was when I was in your place then?
Are you destined to live the life that I managed to escape?
Will I be able to see what my life would have been like just by looking at you?

I am a coward. I should say all this to you. I shouldn't be "the supportive" one. I want to tell you. But I can't. Not that I won't.
My conscience won't let me. My better judgment frowns upon it.
Thus, I shall stay a hypocrite.