Breaking your heart was easy.
Letting you go is the hard part.

Convincing myself I didn't love you, piece of cake.
Leaving you for freedom: simple.

Missing you; sometimes it's too much
Loving you: the hardest thing I've ever done.

Knowing how much you love her; its killing me.
The thought of you cheating on her; it makes me sick.

If you left her I'd ask you to take me back.
If you wanted my innocence I'd give it to you.

All of this, every single part of it has a consequence.
Now I'm suffering through my self-inflicted misery.

To think you're the one who gave me this broken heart is insanity.
This pain was brought on by my own conscience.

And now, when I see how much you love her I hate myself.
I hate myself because I broke you and you healed, moved on.

Still, I'm the one who's broken in the end.
I take responsibility; I'll suffer the consequences.