Sometimes I feel as though my chest
will be ripped apart from the sheer uncertainty
of wondering if you ever think about me.
And if you do,
what do you think about me?
Does it change daily?
Because some days I think you locked me up
and walked away with the key.
Other days I think you set me free.
Some days I feel so much anger
that I could swear I hate you.
But other days I feel nothing but guilty
and you obviously must hate me.
Are you happy?
Are you lonely?
I heard you broke another heart.
I hope you get a fresh start.
But I hope you always regret this part.
I hope you’re happy.
But I still hope you’re lonely.
I hope you hate me passionately,
because at least it means
you still think about me.