And I can write letters upon letter of all your flaws, but fail to list not one of my own; because somehow I’ve been convinced my flaws are perfections, and yours infections. The very thing that’s causing my hatred and dislike of this relationship. Blinded by the need to be right, I become disillusioned into making my wrongs seem ethical and I justify it with a fight. Blaming you because males rarely tell the truth, forgetting females can lie and hide too. But since I have never done such a thing to you, I believe I’m right in all I do. Forgetting the way I doubt your every move, or how no matter what you do, I believe your motives are less then visible. I should take a moment and reevaluate my mental. If I cant trust you, then why am I with you? SO, I ask myself: Do I trust you? Simplicity never seemed so complex. You can’t put “yes and no” to love, I guess. Where my love is pure, I believe your’s is a mess. Despite what you say, I know there something I’ve missed. You brought me flowers today, theres something amidst : He never brings me flowers— he’s done something, I’m convinced. So I stare at the petals of blue, green, and yellow all the while thinking: He’s probably not a decent fellow. Telling myself that his action came from anywhere else other than affection. Then, sit back and wonder why he left me for lack of devotion. Guess, I was right all along. He never truly loved me after all. Or maybe it was my own flaws that caused our downfall.