You cried me a river and named it the forgotten,
You spilled your brain like warm cider on frozen fingertips,
You melted,
You fell into what we called a 'sadness'
But now know as a 'false hope'
You told me everything.

Your idea of perfect includes me,
And my god am I flattered,
But baby,
This isn't love,
Can't you see?
You do not love me,
You love the idea of loving me.