My fictional ideal- not perfect, Just perfectly flawed. Wonderfully fixable and beautifully unfixable, Exquisitely infuriating and endlessly kissable. Forgivably possessive, Pureblooded and sarcastic, Elegant and charming, aristocratically graceful. Think of your own, With eyes closed. You could almost reach out and touch them. What wouldn’t you give for your dreams to be true? Dreams of Pale bodies moving closer, made for each other alone. Surrounded, and yet there’s only the two of you. Eyes open, Transient images fade into nothingness And you have to give them up without a fight. Soundlessly, your seductive dreamings flooded By stark reality and harsh daylight. Realize the truth, as harsh and unromantic as life is, There is no such thing as Soulmates. There is no perfect ‘One’ for anybody. Whilst clinging on to idealistic and romantic notions: Santa, Unicorns, Fairies and Magic potions, Know, that these concepts are more real. Than hope of returned affection from A cold, grey- eyed, white blond male. Cry, And complain, life isn’t fair.
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