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.