The Storyteller

When everything is lost, I know i'll have you. When hope is exhausted, I know you'll be there. But who are you? Why dont you ever say something? Why dont you ever express? Your eyes know something and I know that. You have been places, seen things, felt things. I'm sorry but I know that. Am I supposed to know it? Am I supposed to care? You never ask me for something, never complain, you just sit and listen with your heart wide open to me, feels like being with you, that moment. Who are you? What are you? Why are you this way? And why do I get to know you when I have all these deaf people around me, Why do I want you to listen when I know that you are a momentarily partner in my pain, when I know that when you walk away, You will open this very own heart of your's to something else and forget I even existed, forget we talked, spent some moments together. Are you this way to everyone around you? These questions can never let go of me, never exhausts me of thinking about them. I know there are no answers to them yet I seek them in the lonely night, when I am with me. And there you come again, you sit in front of me, your eyes wait to witness the unfolding of another story, your heart wide open again, do you even care or is it just your habit? Or am I just your hobby? You will listen and I would know where this all will end, yet you listen and I tell. We are both alike, we know where it goes, we know what happens when the story ends, Isn't that knowing each other?