He sits there, So cool and confident.
He smiles and tips his glass toward me.
I acknowledge him by nodding.
He's great, too great.
He is perfect in every way, and I love him for it.
But how can he stay so cool and confident,
When I sit here in a wreak?
Hair mussed, make-up smeared
Blood seeping from flesh wounds.
Because I want to be just like him.
With his perfect smile, his desirable attitude,
And that simple voice that makes me shudder.
He knows everything I want and how to give it to me
Yet I know nothing of his wants, his desires.
And I love him because of that.
But how does he know my desires when I know his not?
He always plays games with my head, helping me rip it in two.
I love him, but he's too good, too perfect.
He knows how to get me going,
He knows how to cool me off.
He could have any woman he wants,
And he chose me,
And I love him for it,
But I don't understand why I can't do the same.
How does he know how to control me
Yet I don't know how to control him?
Is this the way love is supposed to be?
To desire to be with someone, but be just like him?
To be cool and confident,
With an perfect smile and sense of control?
To want to be too good, too perfect just like him?
Love seems so right, yet so wrong,
And I don't know what to do.
