Why...

How am I supposed to help
When I don’t even know your hurting
How am I supposed to know
When I can’t even help in the first place
Why is it that I can read you like a book
But I can never tell you why
Why is it that I can tell your every emotion
But I never let it show
Why is it that I am always there for you
When you need a shoulder to lean on
Why is it that you claim to know me so well
When you don’t even know the fake from the real
And still, as time goes on
I find myself asking the same question
Over and over inside my head
“Why?”