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If I wouldn’t end up loving you,

maybe I would have to hate myself

for leaving you,

for leaving your shadow

on my side of the bed.

If I wouldn’t end up loving you,

maybe I would have to hate myself

for deceiving you,

for deleting your name

and still typing it by mistake.

Life still matters without you.

It does.

And maybe yours still matters

without me.

But maybe I would have to hate myself

for letting you go,

for watching your back

become a memory.

Maybe I would have to hate myself

for forgetting you

and remembering you anyway.

Only if

I wouldn’t end up loving you.

Only if

I wouldn’t end up loving you.