I don’t know why we pretended we knew how to love. The word is maggoty; the sentiment stale, flimsy. For what it’s worth, I would — for a moment — step inside your head. I picture it in quite the literal sense: grayish pink, spongy, convoluted. An image that reflects your personality.
We are always cruel in the abandoning of love. On either side. Sharp malice modifies betrayer and betrayed. We spent years learning how to abandon each other perfectly. Even so, we find these peripheral flickers of regret. Always just shy of action. Chord progressions that don’t resolve in loving you.