You say that you love me,
but how can that be?
You don't even know who I am.
You love the girl I was before,
but I'm not her anymore.
You love the girl who knew not of your faults,
of your attempt at robbing her blind.
You love the girl of twirls,
of confidence and trust.
You love the girl of patience for you,
of believing the best in you.
But it's too late now.
Too late to make up for the years.
But do you even care?
I suppose so.
Do I even care?
That's another matter.
Maybe you love the idea of me,
but you don't love me.
You can't love someone you don't know.
