Bittersweet Rosebuds

I can't see the tears
but I know they are there.
I hear in your voice
the words you long to say,
about me once again
not feeling what is in your heart.
I am "not caring enough"
to remember your birthday.

I brought you roses and a card.
I was two days late,
and you were not there
waiting for me,
like you had
so many times before.

I left the roses
on your front step,
and card in your mail slot,
confident you would
forgive me.

I headed back to the bar,
able to meet my dart team
to win one more round.
Throwing small spears
that should have been aimed
at the bull’s-eye
of my oft cold heart.

I can't see the tears
but I know they are there,
on your side of the telephone,
like bittersweet rosebuds.
I hear in your voice
the words you long to say,
about me being cold and distant
to go along with your final goodbye.