Sometimes I think if I'll ever have that conversation with you.
I mean, sometimes I wonder if I'll ever even have another conversation with you.
But if I do, I hope it'll be one where you ask the question you shouldn't.
"Do you still love me?"
I replay this scenario over and over and over, going through what I could say.
Whether you'd blush, whether you'd cry. Whether it'll all be okay.
And maybe my words will be like kindling to the fire we once had, a catalyst to an experiment of old.
But it's said the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over again, expecting different results.
I think I've gone past insanity, I've closed up, I've battened down the hatches and weathered the storms of my psyche.
But I'm not sure if I prefer the emptiness of these open seas, and I think feeling something, is better than feeling nothing.
I am a broken tape of our favourite film, filled with too many memories to just throw away.
Except now, I can only loop the **** part.
Sometimes I think if I'll ever have that conversation with you.
I mean, sometimes I wonder if I'll ever even have another conversation with you.
But if I do, it'll be one where you don't ask the question you should.
"Do you still love me?"