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?"