Masked

She once told me of your tears, your pain;
your misty sighs whispered from a shell refrained.
And nobody, not even her, knew how
to make you smile (to really smile) again.
So when I saw you, all I wanted to do
was to forget – as though in some lonely masquerade ball
in a world just a little further from existence.
For how, if I ever have the right to ask,
can I face you again unmasked?
But if I ever do, is it okay to tell you
just how sorry (and how grateful) I am?