I have to stop opening my arms for people with shiny eyes.
I hold on to them for dear life,
embrace them so tight.
But when the time arrives that their tears have dried,
I am left empty and all I can do is sigh.

My friends asked me to describe you.
I failed to say a word.
All my thoughts of you were rushing in my head like a blur.
No matter how hard I try, the question remained floating there.
I was silent and with one glance, they understood.
The smile on my lips was the answer.

I learned that happiness is not a destination that you arrive at.
Just as sadness is fleeting, happiness can also be a minute fragment of our days.
It is not a matter of who, when, where and what.
Maybe it is being unafraid of the possibility that it does not always stay.

I do not want to write about people I care for anymore.
It seems like it is only in these words
that their presence is born.
They only live in these lines
and the blank pieces of paper.
They stay there
while I continue to stare
at the silent and solitary air.

I don't know how to whine or cry about it.
It feels like misery.
Something I deserve, something I don't deserve.

I don't know;
Is it all the sins of being hopelessly romantic? -
That the one time I find myself the ideal mate,
I lose her; for my sins. I blame my sins.
My wasteful sins.

I've wasted many-a-hearts.
Unrequited.
Not interested.
Really.

There she was. I was standing in front of a mirror.
Alone. There she was.
In a dress, long hair, a smile, tantalizing lips;
my personality, my interests, my views; a recluse - we.

Yet, alone in front of this mirror, it was She I saw.
Not I.
Her. I saw her.
She was me. I was her. We were I.
At least in the sense - in my sense - we were I.
I saw myself in her. I saw us in her. I saw her in us.
It was confusing; Aren't opposites suppose to attract?
Yet, there I was, attracted to the female version of my own mirror image.
She was refreshing. I had been alone. I am alone.
There she was, an image of me. I want to be alone with her.
I wanted.

Thing is;
Love is a minor - always childish - always unrequited.
Everything I saw was everything that never presented itself to her.
I found myself caught in an deceitful delusion.
I conformed myself into a conforming.
She was the idea that was not an idea - but became THE idea.
I saw perfect in her. Perfect in everything that was not perfect.
I saw love in everything that was not loveable.
I saw time in everything that was not worth my time.
I saw us in everything that was not us. It was never us.
She - I, trapped in a delusion.

I saw everything I wanted, but love is a minor - childish.
Everything I want was for someone else to have.
She was for someone else to have. Someone else has her.

And I;
I am alone.
I have no 'her'.
No She.

I'm not the girl you'd write songs about
Or even a poem
I'm not the one you'd write home about
Or even mention
I'm not the girl you'd stay up thinking about
Or on the phone with till 2am
You're not going to cry over me
Or read about me in a book
I'm not going to break your heart
Cause you'll never fall
Not for me at least
Cause I'm not the girl