It's something of an awkward situation

But one in which I often find myself.

She's done nothing wrong;

I've done nothing right.

Some vague yearning for some relationship

Which, at its final ebb, was also here

(Except enveloped in bitterness).

It is boring, and deeply sad

Because she is fond

And I am simply mildly irritated,

In the nicest possible way

(Because she has done nothing wrong,

And I've done nothing right),

By her company.

Some loves end in bombast and tragedy

Some flutter out and are removed by consent

Some ruin everyone before they die themselves

Some last forever, not even fading

And some loves

Never even start.