♥ ♥ ♥

♥ ♥ ♥

Oh, my darling dear, you appear to be happy now
that you’ve found a perfect copy of your former love.
(It seems, though, you never got over her, actually.
How dare you then to excoriate me so harshly
for not being able to get over you so far?
Me faithfully loving you is surely less bizarre
than looking for duplicates of “the one” as you do.
I don’t wanna go looking for a copy of you!
I know there is none. And I want the original.
I want you and only you. For me, that’s pivotal!)
So I guess I should, properly, be happy for you.
After all, that’s what I have always wanted for you
—I’ve always wanted and still want you to be happy.
But I can’t do so. Not again. Not this time, baby.
This time I need to be selfish. I just have to be
’cause I wanted to be the one who’d make you happy,
because you made me feel the happiest I’ve ever been,
so I wanted to do the same for you, my darling.
Maybe it didn’t mean much for you (to my pity)
when we first met and you were being so, so flirty.
But it meant the world to me. You mean the world to me!
If only I could make you understand, make you see
and appreciate how much I still do feel for you
despite all—though even I don’t know why I still do.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s because of my age or
because I truly feel for you—love you so much more
than I had ever loved anyone else before you.
I bet—No! I’m pretty certain the latter is true
because you match my vision of an ideal man
exactly, with your sky light blue eyes, coal black hair, and
mainly your enthusiastic personality
and generous, kind heart. It’s such a dire pity
then and it hurts so much to realise I don’t
match your vision of a good woman and likely won’t
ever be good enough for you (or anyone else).
And so I cry and cry so much, my eyes turned to wells.
I cry like I hadn’t cried for other guys before
and I also write about my feelings so much more
than I had ever written for anyone before.
I hadn’t longed for anyone else so much before.
By today’s standards, such deep love is deemed wrong. But hey!
The truth is that I don’t know it any other way.
I’ve never been wanted even half as much as I’ve
wanted others, no matter how much I always try.
I’ve never been cared for half as much as I always
care for others. It’s always only a senseless phase
for anyone to get briefly interested in me.
I have never been truly loved before. All just flee
from me even before trying to give me a chance.
Yet in spite of that, nothing can change my feeling since
I believe that if it’s a true love, then it doesn’t
just disappear, not within a month or a dozen,
or three years or even six, if the guys don’t want it.
True love just goes on without needing reasons for it.
Although I must admit that sometimes I wish it would
disappear just like that. And sometimes I wish I had
never encountered you and fallen in love with you
if I’m not doomed to spend the rest of my life with you.
Sometimes I wish I would wake up and there’d be nothing,
not the least trace of any residual feeling;
that there would be just a blank space in my memories
instead in the place where currently your image is.
And sometimes I wish I wouldn’t wake up at all so
I’d finally escape my cruel life and all love throe.
And you better hope your girl would appreciate you
the way you already are and not be trying to
change you to become a duplicate of somebody
she had and lost and looks for in everybody,
’cause it’s a sick kind of love, loving but a copy,
and trying to change someone never makes them happy.