"Wow. No wonder everyone's in love with you."

Well, what am I to say to that?
How can I possibly explain
That I know I am loved,
And the terrible truth that it doesn't really matter
If it's not the *right love-
From you, or her,
Or a handful of scattered people
Whose pain has touched me in the deepest way
And made me want to touch it back?

To be loved is what we all want, right?
And we shouldn't be picky, I'm told,
But I am.
Sometimes I wonder if I imagined my love, anyway.
The moments I've felt,
With few and far between
A special person here
And there,
To send sparks down my spine like wire
And set my heart ablaze with sizzling light.
Sometimes I wonder if I made them up,
These people I chase after,
And that they don't remember
And so of course they do not spare a glance
For the strange girl with the dark eyes
Watching them with hope
And awe.