Her hair is laid,
her nails, made,
she wants to go out
to find love today.
She’s pacing, she’s running,
but she’s sitting in front of her mirror.
She’s going to look for ‘the one’,
anywhere and anyhow necessary,
but she won’t find him.
She has been running from herself;
she has been looking for herself.
She’s the one;
she’s the only one,
and the love she so desperately
seeks must come from her heart.
No man’s love will satisfy her for long;
it will only last for a while,
but she won’t admit that.
She wants someone else to breathe for her;
she doesn’t know how to breathe on her own.
She wants someone else to live with her;
she doesn’t know how to live on her own.
She is alive in appearance,
and that body could bring a
dead man back to life,
but she is dying.
Her heart is very weak,
and her soul has been crying.
If you don’t love yourself,
why would you expect someone else to?