Why is it that I am drawn to those men,
a little bit wild and dangerous on the surface,
(okay, maybe quite a bit wild then...)
but gentle and passionate below it?
Why do I dream of a raging love,
the passion that you read about in books,
that makes all else seem pale and dreary;
why can I not realise that it will never happen?
Is it just some silly, romantic notion in my head,
the cliché image of a perfect dream-man,
of a love that rarely ever happens in real life;
why do my expectations have to be so goddamn high?
Will my overproductive imagination ever allow me satisfaction,
or will I ever pine for an unobtainable mirage?