You said I was cowardly, but I never dared to ask for what I longed for.
You say I am hypocritical and wear a smiling mask all day long.
He said I deserved it and should have been abandoned in a corner of the world.
He said he hated me and wanted to tear my body apart to see what was inside.
You said you loved me, shedding tears and blood, but you still came to me like a mean person and even looked at me.
You, him and him. Is it several people or one person?
Or maybe it's nothing but a phantom summoning the devil within me.
Even I began to lose sight of myself.
Does my sincerity still exist?
Where do those things that are unintentionally remembered and those that are deliberately forgotten drift to?