Time.

If I were talented as she,
I'd draw you in the sun
Instead I weave a web of words
You've yet to open up
And strings are stuck together
As the pages of our time
And ink has run them over
Water wrinkles them, and dries.
You spent your days pretending
That you understood the lot
And wasted all my memories
On things too soon forgot
I'd weave another web of tales
If you could understand
But every day you falter
I could grasp another hand.

Hints.

Commitment--it before you is.
You give up, and it gets let in.
You writhe against the painted net
that brings another lover yet
and wonder, silent as the wind
if it was you who let them in.
Contented, if you wished to be.
On fire, if your passion's free.
The glint inside the weary eye
leading to a new goodbye.
A repeat of an older day
you had a chance you'd never take.
Even though you chose it then,
it's now or never.
Take a hint.

Believe.

You believe in what you see
and don't put hope into your dreams,
but you believe that we're together free-
that I'm for you, and you for me.
Well I believe what can't be seen.
That doesn't mean you're made for me.
I rest my thoughts in dreams and seas,
and death will be what sets me free.