You said, "Maybe. Maybe someday I'll love you, maybe someday we'll be together, but not now. We're in no hurry, right? We can wait."
But why wait? I love you now. And I'll probably love you forever. So why wait? So you don't seem like an easy girl? To make sure that what I feel is true? To make sure I'm the one? Believe me, darling, there's no such thing as "the one". "The one" is just a little girl's fantasy. Open your eyes. A lot of people want to hurt you, break your bones, split your lips. I want to kiss them, caress your skin.
Why wait?
But you said maybe. As if to stir the pot. As if to keep me on the end of your hook. As if to make me suffer a little more. As if to see how much pain I could support. And I gave in to your demands. When I was at my lowest point, I repeated this to myself as a mantra: "pain tells you that you're not dead yet". And then the word "maybe". I've done everything for you. I've changed, I've believed, I've suffered all this so that at the end, when I asked you "maybe", you looked at me and in your eyes I saw him. The one who received your love. Why him? But above all, what I saw was the truth, or rather, fatality. The fatality of seeing that you never loved me. I saw that I was never your first choice. That I would never have satisfied you. And it hurt because all the time I suffered, I kept repeating that word to myself.
"Maybe";
I would have liked so much for you to answer me:
"never"...
