I have to confess something.
As for me, this is like nails on a chalk board.
It's like a sharp blade to my throat.

I shouldn't feel this way but I do.
I shouldn't write about this but I do.
One can only gather, there's something very wrong with me this much I promise is true.

I miss you...
There i said it.
I confessed it.
This is beyond wrong to still love a man so untrue.

You were my first love this much is true.
But I was consumed by you.
By loving you.
By thinking you loved me too.

I know now that; that none of that was true.
That you never loved me, and this much I had to learn was true.