The truth is you’ll never reach the standard of my imagination.
We are never in love, it’s all just a matter of fascination.
It’s all for boredom, a feeling of importance, perhaps a feeding of egos.
We are all imagining the feelings, high on placebos.
Love in this modern day really does not exist.
All that there is are moments of high and moments of bliss.
Then comes the addiction; the need to feel a sensation of want and need.
We want to be desired, so to each other we concede.
This wears off, every infatuation comes with an expiry date.
We plan our lives, each feeling, each destination and it’s never a matter of fate.
We invest in people, we build them up only to destroy them in the end.
All in the name of bad habits that we call best friends.
They say you love the people you are able to see your own self in.
Narcissists are what we truly are within.
We build our own fabrications,
That lead to our own disappointments.
So this is to the next boy who decides to come knocking at my door step:
You’ll never reach the standards of my expectations.
I want the impossible, a love of immortality, without expiration, a heart without complication.
I want a man who knows himself before he knows who I am.
I want a man with goals, aspirations and a plan.
I want a man who can see himself without me,
But with me is where he’d prefer to be.
I want a man who can stand up for his own opinion.
I want a man who is desired by other woman.
I want a man who spins me around in front of them.
I want a lover who is also a friend.
I don’t want a best friend that turns into a bad habit.
I want us to look at relationship goals and say we have it.
So if you have come knocking I suggest you turn back and head on home.
This girl has built her walls high and they’re made of stone.
See, it’s never an issue of knocking them down for it is not a matter of strength.
Would you climb this wall with the risk of falling, would you go to that length?
You think so now, but we are humans of the 21st century.
Love is not a need it is an accessory.
So here’s to honesty, to the reality of placebos.
All I did was tell you what you already knew though.
How long will we all pretend that we care about anyone other than ourselves?
Close that fictional chapter, leave it to collect dust on the shelves.