If I were to die this year, a pleasant end to misery,

It would be knowing I was never loved by whom I loved, 

And that is fine by me. 

For it is better to have professed it, even rejected, 

Than to deny the chance at all, to disrespect it. 

And it is better to be lost, to have found nothing real, 

Than to be with someone who professes what they do not truly feel.