There’s this girl.
The girl of your dreams I imagine,
A girl who is a dream I imagine.

Wrapped in skin the shade of your perfect daydream,  
perfectly moulded by the palm of your hand.

There’s this girl I imagine,
wrapped around your waist,
exploring the taste of your mouth which used to utter my name.
Not late at night because that was a tired cliché,
no during the day, when the fantasies die and the sun was always a little too truthful.
You used to whisper my name during the day,
during a time which still belong to you and I,                                               during a time in which I was still beautiful to you.

There’s this girl I imagine,
who doesn’t raise her voice when she’s angry,
who doesn’t swear,
who doesn’t dare to break your fragile perception of what a girl is suppossed to be.
You see,
I was all to violent a women for you.
Trying to confine and define me was like trying to wrap your hands around the wind, clutch it to your chest- it was just never meant to be.   I was always too talkative,
too vicacious,
I had too much of a personality.
I was art in the beginning, beautiful to look at and nothing more, but when that art became etched into your memories, and roamed your naked soul, I became all too much.

There’s this girl,
who you can wrap your imagination around,
who is comfortable with living in the confines of what you’d like her to be.

There's this girl you see, wrapped in a fantasy, a girl who isn't me.

There’s this girl you see,
who doesn’t question your silences,
who isn’t interested in your mind,
who praises the land you walk on comfortable walking in the cold of your shadow.

There’s this girl who doesn’t value her power and doesn’t expect you to either. There’s this girl who is an echo of who I used to be.

There's this girl you see,
who just isn't me.