It was really only about

all the days and all the thoughts

that were not mine.

 

And it was really never about

all the words and all the hours

that were misunderstood.

 

It should never have been about

all the years and all the people

that faded apart.

 

It was always about

all the ways, to reposition regrets.

 

It was always only about

all the mistakes

and the endless ways I put them away.

 

If a simple moment

that has followed me here

can bring me to undercurrents

and undercurrents

of hate.

 

It was really only about

the one moment

that was mine.

 

And it was really never about

the one time

you were misunderstood.

 

It should never have been about

the one night and one person

that never faded.

 

It was always about

the regrets of one night.

 

It was always only about

that one night

and the endless ways I have

to put it away.