She could drop him in the middle and laugh about it,

While he laughs at something far away.

She could tell everyone he's terrible;

Reading the autobiography in his hands was impossible.

She could mock him when he cries

And he would think she was consoling.

She can hear him but she can't listen.

Her hair, in the daylight, looks like deceit to me,

But to him it is heaven, everything.

She will leave him after the first night,

His room in a mess with no time to clean.

She will "forget" to drop a note, and never repeat what he says.

(He waited for her to say it, but only I whispered it

Back under the crowd our first time together.)

She will make him hate everything he loved.

She will hear him but she won't listen.