If

If making you love me means folding clothes of faultlessness in a suitcase without wrinkles of blunders and tossing them in a dryer along with a damp washcloth of my shortcomings.

If it’s resting your white shirt out on an old towel of past while rubbing a cut lemon half on the rust stains of pain. If it seems like protecting white sneakers from microscopic dust of treachery, dirt of doubt floating around, stains of white lies, and liquid through dab of baking soda, lukewarm water, and toothpaste, forgive me for I won’t harness my inner spirit Titan.

 Just cut my tangled feelings because I am totally exhausted. I love you but I’m done, for loving you is a tiring day.