If I saw you today for the first time,
I don't think I'd want to know you.
You have grown jaded in the years, my friend.
But not in a story-book way.
Your eyes haunt me,
accusing me of abandonment.
But, dear, I didn't abandon you.
You abandoned me.
I spent centuries twirling on tippy-toes,
just waiting for you.
To notice me.
To call to me.
You know, there's this obsessive man I know
(Obsessive over me)
and he scares me deathly,
but I think I halfway understand his reasonings.
I'm obsessed with you.
Like a book that I cannot read.
A flower I cannot smell.
A river I cannot touch.
I want what I can't have.