I can’t imagine loving someone.
I can’t imagine someone loving me.
I’ve been told I’m unlovable you see.
That no one will care about the things
that I do, or that they will but I won’t be
able to care about the things that make them unique.
I see photos of couples every week:
Having, holding, hoping, but it won’t be me.
It’ll never be me, ‘cuz the idea of building relationships seems
pointless. Why do things when it could all fall apart?
Take photos that’ll rip out your heart?
When things go to hell, ask yourself why did we start?
Exes ruin the important parts.
It’s better to be alone with comfortable thoughts
than look back at things and wish that they
hadn’t happened. ‘Cuz it hurts. It hurts so much.
It hurts to be alone too, I suppose.
But I save money on champagne and roses
that will likely go to a girl who will never know me.
No photographed poses.
No late night convos.
No love letters composed.
I’ll just tuck myself in at night;
I need to love myself anyway.