If I am not myself when I'm with you, then who am I?
Last night I called you, one, two, three times. But you weren't there. You never are.
Each time we speak, something changes, like I was someone who isn't me.
Beacause I want to impress you, or make you think I don't care.
It's usually both.
I lie to myself, just like you lied to me, to the point I don't know anymore if there is any feeling left.
Do I really want you back? Am I just bored? Do I really hate you? Did I ever love you?
I don't know.
Now I'll never know.