You speak of books,

and classic tunes.

Of never-ending love

craved by romantic fools.

How can you dream

of such silliness?

To wish for a knight

saving damsels in distress,

of throwing caution just for

a mere second of bliss?

They're bound for trouble, I tell you.

Yet you never miss a beat,

never tire of telling me 'bout

that missing glass shoe, and

the fear for the scarcity of Romeos.

Again, why would you want

a fool who blindly dies at the end?

You never ever listen.

But for the strangest reason,

I heard out your endless talks

on our late night walks.

Do you know what you do to me?

I never believed

in such stupidity.

My dear, I shake hands with reality everyday.

Yet for you,

for you I want to find

that blasted shoe;

be another Romeo just to

solve that foolish supply issue.

I want to be your knight,

ready to strike down distressful foes.

Do you know what you do to me?

You make me want to dive into

these foreign waters in leather shoes,

knowing full well I'd never float.

Yet I still want to take that dip,

to abandon all for that risky leap.

Do you know what I've become?

Another fool that'd blindly die at the end.

My love, I'm willing to believe again;

because of you,

with you,

and only for you.

****