if loving again meant,
sooner or later,
i’d go back to hurting
then i don’t want to.

if loving again meant,
nights staring endlessly
on the terrace outside my room
watching as lights glimmer from the distance
wondering if this is too good to be true,
then i don’t want to.

if loving again meant,
countless cigarettes,
ashes on the floor,
overthinking that maybe
i’m still not good enough
— that i’m not worthy —
then i don’t want to.

if loving again meant,
remembering all the why’s
and how could you’s
that were never answered,
then i don’t want to.

my dear,

if loving again meant,
i’d go back to the version of me:
hurting because of people that weren’t you,
then i don’t want to.