The Idea of You
I am in love with the idea of
You- the vessel in which I project my dreams, my desires, my design, though
It could never compare to the beauty of your originality, the perfection of
Your natural self, raw and flawed and messy as it may be.
I find beauty in the most mundane parts of
You- the way your nose wrinkles when you laugh.
Every freckle, every stray piece of hair, every birthmark,
Your stance and pose, your undeniable presence- I could sense you anywhere.
I find fleeting joy in my fantasies of
You- in simplicities of holding your hand, laughing with you, eating dinner
In the home that we built in my mind,
Yours of which I am never even a visitor.
I am in love with the idea of
You- but you are not an idea, a projection, a presence, a fantasy,
A blank canvas for me to paint, a block of marble for me to shape,
You were never mine in the first place.
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