In truth, There is no 'you’
You are but a lie, a clue
You flatter yourself thinking,
That my entire thought unceasing
Is but on one individual,
My life but a constant vigil
As though one person has my affection,
As though one person can hear my confession
No. I am often quick to love all
Fanciful dreams make me quickly fall
Flat on my face in idolatry
'You’ are the sum of my emotion
The people for whom I live and love
Not all are real, some are skewed,
Some I knew once and now
through rose coloured spectacles drowned in tears.
But some, and indeed at times, many
are those whom I see
And to whom I may speak
'You’ are not real,
But you’re still my everything.


Clarification? Why? Maybe I like this to be confusing? Did you think of that, passive aggressive 'Notes' box?

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