how i loved you
it was a love that i could keep
only if i was broken
maybe it was not love
but people like me can only hope
hope for “the almosts” and “the similar”
hope and be happy in our misunderstandings
i don’t remember
how you loved me, if you loved me
so maybe, even in hope
i was not as blind as i wanted to be
They tell me time and again,
and shed tears.
Tell me how I sit alone, act lonely,
and make them feel the same.
How I forget that they need love.
How I make them miserbale by being myself.
How my every word is fake, every deed selfish.
I tell them again and again
that’s not me.
I am all that they complain about.
Even if every hour of mine is devoted
to not let them feel this.