I can't know.

I can't know what you've gone through.
I just can't.


Maybe it's an identity thing.
You share with others, not me.

Maybe it's blindness.
Something I refuse to see.

If I see it one day, I'll apologise.
I hope it will be enough.

Because, I know that you've survived.
You're made of some tough stuff.



I can't know what you've gone through.
It would be slander to pretend.

That also means I can't feel it.
There will be no lies on my end.


But I can still see the suffering.
And so with your permission.

I'll simply be a shoulder.
And an ear, with which to listen.