I love you - but I don't.
I want you - but I can't.
Because of the remorse.

So I hate you - when I don't.
So I leave you - when I can't.
Because of the yearning.

Let it be done!
Finish what had begun!

-please don't-

I can't want this anymore.

Love was black,
and love was white.
I though I knew -
or was I told? -
the meaning.

Told.
Told, with a rigidness.
Told, with a consequence.
Because if it's not black,
and it's not white,
it's worthless.

But then that pure white,
darkened.
But then that pious black,
lightened.
Until it was the perfect
shade of gray.

And now I forget,
The deepness of that black
And the gleam of that white,
For gray is all I know.