She doesn't want me. She doesn't fucking want me.
But she does; I know it. I can feel it every time she looks at me, wondering what could have been. Maybe she's fucking ecstatic she's shot of me. But I don't think so. She cares, even though it'd probably kill her to admit it. She gives a shit. She gives a shit about every bone in my fucking body. Oh yeah, so she's happy, but is she really in love? Just because she's got her every need catered for, she's looked after, she's fucked, she's loved, is she in love?