Self-immolation

The thoughts cross my mind.

Like, all the time.

It was this and it was not that.

It was yellow and it was sad.

It was not it.

It was me.

All of it was me.

And I always thought, what would they miss?

It was questioning their devotion.

Their kindness.

Their love.

For me. 

All of it was for me.

And I always thought, how much do they love me?

Constantly doubting it.

Not because I didn’t feel it.

Because I don’t deserve it.

Are they faking it?

And I always thought, can you fake love? 

Surely they can’t love me as much as they say?

Can i measure it? Their love?

.

Would they miss me at all? 

I said it again.

Would they miss me at all if I was gone?