Who knew?
Who knew?
The prodigal son was you?
You left, that much was true.
But your return, that is unexpectedly new.
Your big stories
Are they real?
Is that all that happened?
What’s the deal?
Were you true to your friends
Or stand apart again?
You don’t say
Who or why or when.
The more I dwell
On your selective memory
The more I know
There must be things you don’t allow us to see.
One thing about stories
They are never long enough
But you should reveal the whole truth
Though that would be really tough.
albi