Fading

Let me mark the pages

of your anger.

The counting of phrases

which represent

your discontent.

The times when I

attempt to sense

your disappointment.

The moments when

I realize,

here it is...

Me, I think.

A missing link

of understanding.

Why?

Why do I displease you?

Is there a way?

For you to know

that I am being

washed

away?