You'll never really know it, will you?
And do you know why you'll never know it?
Because you don't want to know it. Not really. Not at all.
Later, someday, you won't want to believe it. Not really.

That you're not the one I've been writing about.
And that you'll always be, too, in some way.
Never again.
And always back again.
From time to time.

To fill my love cycles.

Sorry for the bullshit.

But you're the muse, darling. Don't blame me.