Consistently inconsistent—
tell me,
is that even inconsistency?
I can't even be mad at you,
'cause you were never mine officially.
But still—
the yelling,
the fighting,
none of it meant shit to me.
Why argue
when you could just say
you've been missing me?
Instead—
names,
games,
ways you break me down.
But I try not to let it get to me.
Still, it don't make sense to me.
You say I don't hear you,
but maybe
you don't know how to speak to me.
You build the chaos,
then beg for sympathy.
That math don't add up to me.
I know life's complicated,
but there's beauty in simplicity.
Scared of change,
we cling to stability.
Sometimes we just need
to be touched physically.
But can't you see?
Them other women—
they don't mean shit to you.
Maybe you were searching
for something I couldn't give.
Now it all makes sense to me.
But what happens
when everything shifts instantly?
How could this end differently?
This was never the plan initially.
Now I feel myself—
distancing.
Shutting down.
Searching for peace of mind.
You said you hear me.
But were you ever actually listening?
You might've won the argument,
but I guarantee
it don't feel like victory.
I just remember—
you used to vent to me.
And you'd say
You'd never hurt me—
not intentionally.
But I guess
what's meant to be
ain't meant to be.
And I guess
you'll never really know
what you meant to me.
