I loved you.
And pushed away my feelings.
Until I could lock them away for good.
Then we fought.
I get jealous when you show passion and happiness, cause now it’s not for me.

I should be happy that you’re happy.
I should be happy that you’re not sad.

You text me late at night, just like in the past.
We stay up till 3 am.
Laughing, smiling, but something’s wrong.

I should be happy that you’re happy.
I should be happy that you’re talking to me.

You text again, late at night.
You seem worried, so i ask.
Thinking you won’t tell me.
But you do.
It starts out okey.
Then you tell me what’s wrong.

I should be happy that you’re happy.
I should be happy that you’re lifting a burden.

You confirmed my suspicions.
You said you love her.
You said she broke your heart.
Again and again.

I should be happy that you’re telling me.
I should be there for you, listen to you, talk to you.
But I keep thinking.
Over and over; it’s not the right time to tell I loved you.

You told me all that bothered you.
We share the burden. The pain. The sorrow.

I should be happy that you’re happy.
I should be happy that you’re better.
But I’m not, why?
Because it wasn’t the right time.
It’s never the right time to tell you I loved you.