It's not because I don't love you, because, I do. But you see it always starts out the same. I learn about you from a friend when he tells me your name, how much he loves you, all the wondrous things you say and that I need to get to know you; today. The next time I visit that friend, you're there. I try to play cool, desperately trying to hide how much I really care. But inside I'm pulsing, racing, unable to think of anything except when can I get you alone and when can I make you sing. After all I've heard so much about you; hated by those that don't matter and loved by those that do. So when it's time for me to leave you come along without hesitancy and at home we get to know each other, when your arch your spine for me like you did for your last lover. I hint at deep intentions when I ask you to move in; promising nights in each others arms, my love and undivided attention. βI have room for you in my lifeβ I'll say, but despite this all I still might give you away. It's not that I won't miss you when you're gone, but, the problem is I'm a traveler; a vagabond. I move on, and on and on, frequently meeting new faces that hold a wonder for truth; and they remind me of me the me before you. And so, my darling, it isn't that I don't love you, I do. But I've met someone new, and this someone needs you.