You ask me if I love you?
No, I don't.
Or at least, not anymore.
I don't feel the butterflies,
The weird feeling of unending bliss,
And the throbbing pain when I miss you—
So I don't love you.
But I loved you.
I loved you,
And only you—
Unlike someone that I know,
Unlike someone who pretends to love me,
When all it ever do was to kiss someone whenever I turn back—
Unlike someone who disguised himself as love when I was naive—
Unlike you.
So I thank you for the memories,
For the happiness and the pain—
Of being in love with you.
But that was just it—
It all ends there.
As a memory,
And as a lesson.
So If you ask me if I love you,
Then I'd say I don't.
I love myself—
And to love me,
Is to see the real you.