Unless he does something crazy romantic; unless he sweeps your feet off the ground and proclaims to the world that he can't, couldn't and can never live without you. But despite all that. Don't listen to him.
His words, though candy-coated are nothing but lies. Lies! Lies! And lies! May his lies become shadows and suffocate his being.
He's not worth every tear that gushed out of your eyes, every blood and bruise, evidence of you, scribbling valiant verses here and there. He's not worth your life. But despite all this. You love him. It shakes the very core of your existence knowing that he could never love you back the way you do.
You're still hanging. Like how he always makes you. It's a pity that you still hoped that he loves you. It's a pity you're holding on to bubble promises and worthless meanderings. He's the puppeteer of your every waking performance as you tremble at every breath you draw in and out for him. He's the idol you worship and like all idolatry, he is a plethora of unspeakable evil to your system.
That stinking reality of you still loving him despite everything is slowly decomposing you inside. And now you're left with two choices: slow, painful, sweet sweet death or gloomy, depressing and solitary emancipation?