I feel resentment,
and anger,
and hatred,
and embarrassment,
when I think of you
I feel passion,
and heat,
and mysteries,
and confusion
when I hear about you
I feel longing,
and wanting,
and wishing,
and waiting
when I see a picture of you
Yet everything is wrong
Every memory is,
mis-remembered,
mis-told,
mis-understood.
Everything we had
never totaled
the amount we didn't have
Though when the match ended
Neither of us put the gloves down
And I still don't know
Who will throw the first punch
However I doubt it will be me
Because I'm still waiting
for you to take me in your arms
and tell me
I was never wrong.