If I were a love, to whom would I be?

The woman that lays asleep on the street?

Or maybe the dancer upon the grand stage,

So alive, yet blind to the worlds imperfect dismay,

Or maybe I am merely what I wish to be,

Contained so tightly within my own mortality,

But then that is maybe the truth of us all,

If I were a love, to whom would I fall?

I would fall into the perfect contain, that comes to remain,

When all things abstain.

I am what I am, and I will be who I be.

That is person, to whom I would be.