You’re in love with the idea of love;
With the concept of feeling complete.
You’re in love with the thought of relationships;
Clinging on to whomever you meet.
You’re in love with the concept of family;
Of having what you’ve always desired.
You’re in love with the fantasy of being saved,
And escaping this life you’ve inspired.
You’re in love with feeling wanted,
And needed, and required;
Of being an asset and being fulfilled
In your quest for all things admired.
You, however, sweet child I adored,
Do not, have not, fallen in accord,
Of the words you preach in such despair;
Child, can’t you see, that I was never there?
Your feelings are made up inside of your head,
And as much as you recite you’d sooner be dead,
You have to admit, that quite logically,
You don’t, and never have, ever really known me.
You needed an escape, as so many do,
So your escape became me, and the one I move to,
And you clung with a fantasy you kept inside your head,
Instead, dear child, of sharing all your dread.
And yet, you seemed surprised, when I announce we’re through,
Because you never saw it coming and you don’t know what to do,
But the relationship you’re mourning isn’t the one I’m after,
It’s the idea and the concept and the freedom and the laughter.
Statistically, it wouldn’t work, yet you based your future goals
On two people whom you hardly knew,
On two people making a home.
And the desire to be apart
Of something more than yourself,
Created this imaginary world
That you placed upon your shelf.
But the truth of the matter, my dear,
Is that what you so deeply desire,
Did not come from me, did not come from him,
It was only just inspired.
So please don’t say you fell so hard,
And changed your life to play these cards;
Projecting, transposing are your best friends
But guilting a fantasy can no longer be fed.
My advice, sweet redhead lover:
Fix yourself before looking for another,
Because until you overcome the transgressions you’ve been through,
You’ll never be able to love another as true.