I see all kinds of lovers:

The young and the happy

The old and the cold

Ones that don't quite match up

Ones that live to love perfectly

Ones that live to not be lonely

Ones with nothing better to do

Ones with nothing but time

And then some with no time at all

And they all look picturesque and pretty on the outside;

but I can't help feeling sorry for them all.

Then I look away and feel sorry for myself.