It’s not his fault that he can’t love

an empty shell, a dull portrait

of our borderline connection.

For me, he’ll always be the boy

that held me tight against the wind,

in front of a big ocean, swore his heart

to open, to protect, to fight. For us.

Not anymore, I cried my bloody tears,

I paid the price, I did my part!

Not anymore! I scream to waves

that carry my nostalgia away. I can’t.

Love ends, it dies, I read it in his eyes,

It’s not his fault, no matter how I try

to place this guilt on someone else.

To have the blood drip from my fingertips,

To realise I killed what was alive,

To know we’ll never be the same!

I killed the love. Love dies.

I am the villain here. It’s not his fault.