You were the one I thought I loved,
the one who I thought would be mine,
to have and to love and to kiss and to hug,
and to hold and to own and to take.

But you weren't mine to own or to control,
or the object of my diseased affections.
You were your own person, with your own wants,
your own desires, and your own feelings
that didn't involve me or my dreams, and that's okay.

You owed me nothing, yet I made you feel you did,
we were friends at one time, and maybe we could
have been something more had I been aware.
But I was young and foolish and didn't know what
it meant to truly love somebody.

I thought I loved you, but I didn't.
I cared for you and longed for you,
and wanted to be with you, but
I didn't truly love you. I didn't consider
you or what you wanted, and just
tried to make you feel my way.

I let my feelings became dark and
obsessive and get the better of me, and
you were the one who suffered, not me.
It wasn't right of me, and I apologize.
I haven't seen you in many years,
and I wonder if I will ever get a chance,
to properly express my sorrow for
the way I acted and the way I treated you.

If our paths ever do cross once more,
I wish we'll be able to on terms friendly,
talk of our pasts and of our futures,
but if you're not interested, I don't blame you.

I didn't by good do you,
so why would you, the same, do?