Every time I experience or create something beautiful. It's lost on me. Like all those long hours of conversations. With the minds of a missed lover. I just walk away. I disappeared. As though nothing happened. Blaming myself. For my lack of perfection.
I was never engaged. With you. Or felt something deep. You just wrote me a story. And I smiled. I accepted it. So I could be whatever. You wanted me to be.
But, I was and always will. Be alone. Talking to myself. Instead of the idea of me.