Reading between the Lines

I find the secrets in the subtext as my fingers trace the keys
the hidden gems buried deep below the ripples of the seas.
all the words I wanted to say, all the things I wanted that way,
all the feelings that I have felt, all the cards I have been dealt.

I find her whispers between the lines she should have said to me
the unsaid, unexpressed disasters that were never meant to be.
all the times, I could have admitted that love was enough
all the places we should have gone, life was just too tough.

The pages crumple, then twist, then smoke and turn to ash
the forgotten connotations, every action racing into this tragic crash.
all the books that could save us, all the advice that I could take
all the fears that made us ignore the one thing we could make

Why couldn't we have stopped before it was too late?
why did we forget the love, remembering only the hate?
why wasn't it our time? wasn't it simply sublime?
this is the misfortune of reading too fast, iconic, a crime.
this is why we can't have nice things, this is all just a cliche
what does it matter if you get the context anyway?