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.