It's Alright

It's alright.
It's alright.
It's alright.

That's all he keeps saying.
And no matter how times he screams it at me, tells it to me, writes it to me, sings it to me, I still can't see how it is.
How is it alright when you're there and I'm here?
How is it alright when I think you've forgotten me and hoping that I'll never forget your face?
How is it alright when the music breaks and my tears are the only thing heard?
How is it alright when he writes the songs of every event in my life?

I don't get it.
How is it alright?