Do you know that my heart is with another woman?
As I lay here holding you tight against me, my body is yours.
But can you feel this heart call out for her? Someone who isn't you?
Did you feel me as we made love, reach out for her? Cry for her?
It's her I see when I'm with you. And I don't know how that makes me feel.
You think I love you, but I'm just playing your heart like Beethoven under a moonlit night sky, playing a sonata...

Do you feel that? That warm tear that fell from my eye onto your cheek? Could you possibly know it's for her?
When I tremble alone at night, howling at the moon... yearning for the smell of her breath, the taste of her skin... her...

I barely know you, you're just pretty to me. Not as pretty as her.
Your hair is too long, too dark, too straight, too perfect.
Your eyes foster no depth to them; shallow and lifeless, a void. Hers are like diamonds reflecting a blue moon of a summer night.
Everything about you is wrong, compared to her. Your voice, your arms, your mouth, your heart... you aren't her.

But here I am with you, holding your hand.
There she is, sleeping alone.
Life is cruel.