I have the strength to recognize that I do, in fact, know how to let you go.
I didn't actually miss you; I missed me when you were into me.
At no point did I ever actually think that he could make you happier than me.
When I said I had finally forgiven him? Still hadn't.
I lied; I was cutting myself to hurt you. Most of what I was doing the week after you dumped me was geared towards causing you distress, turmoil, and guilt. I'm sorry.
All I really wanted to say was not, "Hold her and keep him strong / While I'm away from here".
History is not made to seem unfair.
I am not scared for this world or for me.
I have no plans to try not to breathe. These eyes are not the eyes of the old. I did try to burden you; I did not hold these things inside. I tried to worry you.
I struck that picture no more than a handful of times, nowhere near ninety.
Despite sweetly urging the original trespass, I didn't actually want you to give me my sin back; I just wanted to kiss you again.
There was no benefit of ill. I did not find that better was by evil still made better, nor that ruined love, when built anew, grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. I was not rebuked to my content, nor gained by ills thrice more than I had spent. If anything it was more of a loss of five times the spending.
When you asked me what I'd do if you took off your shirt, I was just trying to give a unique answer in order to stand out from all the guys you randomly hooked up with.
Do you have anything to retract?