I think I'm a masochist

I like the pain that you inflict.

The bitter sweet pang of seeing your face

I sit on the steps and I wait for you

I flew miles to come and see you

And hear in person that you still don't want to be with me.

You think that this should be easier

That our relationship should be more simple

That you shouldn't endure the pain you endure

But what about the fact that you are killing me?

I'm waiting on the steps and I sit to see you.

I walk miles to be near to you.

And see in person what I will soon be losing.

I know that I'm a masochist

This is no secret anymore.

I hold onto the pain that you inflict.

I can do better.

But that hurt I can't let go of.

I do it to myself. 

We haven't kissed. He won't do it.

I'll keep you posted on how the rest of the torture of a weekend goes. 
The best thing would be to pack my belongings up, be a big girl, and save my dignity.
But why do that when instead I could beg for him, and lose every ounce of respect for myself?
I'm a masochist.