It’s so nice that I don’t love her anymore.
I don’t even care that she showed me the door,
That her anger even now eats at my core –
See, I don’t even love her any more.
It’s just as she had told me at the time.
A relief to be freed of all that slime.
I don’t have to strain to smile, or laugh or rhyme;
Don’t have to act sincere all the time.
You may think it’s really hard to live my life,
But I simply do my job and love my wife,
And take refuge in the absence of the strife
That used to mark the tensions of my life.
My life is so sublimely set and yet
I have a single quelling sad regret.
If I’m happier than anyone you’ve met
Why do I believe I love her yet?