I think the problem is

That every time I try to love you

I stop loving me a little bit

The love I give to you

Is the love I would have given to myself


And I have loved in a million ways

In a million lifetimes

But it never seems to come back

In the same way it is given

It is never returned

As bountiful

Or wholesome

It is never quite the same

And it never stays


Maybe I’m too good at knowing how to love

And not good enough at knowing how to accept it

Or maybe there was never any love to accept

Because the love I give

Is enough to create wings for those who receive it

– I don’t know how to make it stop or make it stay

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