I asked you once, when we were young,
If you thought love a burning fire;
You looked past me, tearfully,
And said, “There’s grief in all desire.”

I turned away from what you said,
An angry buzzing in my head,
For though still tender, I could see
I was unwanted, certainly.

I heard, though, one year later that
Your father had abandoned you;
Had left without so much a word,
And where he was, nobody knew,

And thought about that night, that look,
How you had been betrayed by stealth,
And how I’d been just one more guy
Who only cared about

Himself

(Assumption: “Everything is about me.”)