there are different aspects of you in my story book.
You are but not what I’d hoped.
Maybe ten years down the line,
you would come close to be the one I have you in my head.
The ‘you’ in my head has a complex interior.
So complex that you will not understand.
So complex that even I cannot describe.
Even though she’s a product of my imagination,
I’m having a hard time understanding her.
But as much as I know her,
I can tell she is marvelous.
She loves rain.
Guess what? She even loves change.
She’s changing me every day.
Even right at this moment.
But you… you’re so fucking happily trapped in your cocoon.