It hurts to think about it.
It hurts to think about someday in the distant future,
he may dismiss our love as untrue.
He may tell another girl that he thought he knew what love is
but he never knew until he met her.
And maybe it will simply be a line,
but maybe it will be truth that his soul aches to say
and he will no longer think of me.

His I love you's will be built on the thoughts of someone else
and how her eyes look in the sunlight
and how her hair falls to her shoulder
and how she breathes his name into the air in the bed that they share.

It hurts to think about the future.
It hurts to think about where I may be when he's lying next to her,
tracing his fingertips across her palms
and brushing hair off of her face before he kisses her goodnight.

And we will simply be experiences and stories to keep locked away
in our memories that are never to be spoken of or reminisced.
We'll be letters that we wrote for each other
and art on our walls and knick-knacks on shelves,
all enveloped by dust and faded emotions.

And he may hear my favorite song in twenty years
and I hope he chooses to remember the good
and I promise to try not to be bitter.
And when I run into him in twenty years and he speaks of his success,
I will smile for his happiness even if it is not me.
It only hurts to think about it.