I think and I kept thinking,
and I never did a single thing
but to keep thinking about you.
Well now it seems I don't love you,
I just love thinking about you.
And probably chose to write about it instead.
And so now I realize,
I've just done something for you.
But then again, I won't give this to you.
Because I just love thinking about you,
and to write about it.
And then think about the writing, not you.
For you, I haven't done anything,
but I have done everything for you.
Everything, that my love now seems to be nothing.
And so I let this dying love die,
so I could send his gravestone,
to his beautiful owner. To you.