I messed up.
I wasted days away, never letting you be.
I never did this, or that, I was never that, or this.
I keep trying to figure it out.
I keep making excuses, I don't know what happened.
I'm trying to figure it out.
Too much distance, never enough for you.
I keep regretting, but nevertheless it was nothing to you.
Never too real, never too serious.
You never truly answered, never not being mysterious.
I write poems to cope, I draw pictures to remember.
From you I lost all my hope, never bitter.
I was never bitter, always despairing.
I was never this, or that. Why, however, is what I wonder.
I'm trying to figure it out.