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.