my louvre ticket

You do the cutest things,
things I can't do anything about but stop and admire.
I adore being around you,
I love watching your every single move and gesture,
but this so-called 'perfect-image' of you has been broken, I think.

I don't know how I'll react if I would see for myself one day, what they say about you.
I think I'll cry, because in fact, you made me think a perfect creature existed so close to where I am.
It's almost like watching your dreams as they're being crushed into little pieces.
Again, this is the reality.

But it's not like you care, I make up such a small part of your life.
A strand of hair on your head would be the equivalent of the significance of me?
Would I even be of any importance?
Which reminds me, for I should have completely no say in how you wish to lead your life.

You're an art piece in the Louvre,
I'm just but one out of the I-dont-know-how-many-visitors they get per year.
I pass by, and get caught up by the aesthetically beautiful features, again, one out of the billion who's done the same in the past.
I'm not particularly rich, and have no plans in bidding you off from the exhibits, I could only keep staring, so long as my ticket is still valid.
='[
The validity period slips by each day...
I do know you're leaving the end of this year.
And we'll only ever remain in this relation, forever.
*sigh*

- <3 Bee