Portia, I dreamt you were real

I cut a path
past the swimming baths.
as the warm chlorine folded around me
I fell on my arse.
I'd tripped on a lace,
and now I wish I could dive with some of their grace
'cause I've got stones in my hands
and they don't understand
that it's hurting.

 

Portia, I dreamt you were real;
I'd read about you all day.
You claimed to understand how I feel
if never quite what I say.
Our love tumbled to a sodden end
as all too soon I did comprehend
that you weren't there to kiss my wounds,
like you aren't here to hear my tune,
and it's hurting.