No good life is led on maybes.

"Here's my palm; care to read it?"

Because, who knows, maybe you'll learn something.

Maybe you can tell my why I'm so constantly on the verge of tears lately, for no good reason; I've seen my two best friends more in the past three days than I have in the previous two weeks, I'm understanding my math, and I've been reading more often.  Why am I on the verge of tears?  And why can't I seem to talk to him about it anymore?

Maybe you can tell me how I feel; what I think and what I don't.  You could see, possibly, what I think of him and what, hopefully, he thinks of me.  Why I think I have to act a certain way when I don't and why I can't seem to talk to him anymore.

Maybe you could tell me how he really feels, from looking at the hand he once held.  Maybe it left something, residue, for lack of a better word; maybe from that, you can deduce why he's doing what he's done and why he's said what he said.

Maybe, also, you could decide how long my life will be.  But don't tell me; I don't want to know.  I prefer living in my dream of forever young; after all, we only grow up when we stop having fun.
Maybe I miss how we were.

Then again, maybe you can't.
But I know we can never go back.  So thanks, Mitchell, now I'm alone again.

Maybe you'll see a tired hand, fingernails painted some off color that you know I hate, but that's all.  Hands really don't tell you much.  If you really want answers, look at my eyes.  Eyes will tell you everything.
For one thing, if they're green, you'll know I've given up holding it back.

love always, laura.