Deceived.

Somehow I deceived myself into thinking
you were waiting for me.
That you had seen all along the parts
of me you couldn't live without and were
just waiting for me to catch on.
As though I were the touchstone
all else was measured by.

For some reason I convinced myself that a
romantic scene existed.
Where you waited for me to be free so you
could show me you were the knight from my
dreams.

I led myself into portraying you
with all sorts of wholesome farmboy
qualities, that made you too endearing
for me to resist.

But now I know what I didn't before.
And I'm fighting with myself
to not see the little horns that I think
are popping out.
They scare me so.

So who are you really?
And what could you possibly want from me?

I believed you to be so honorable.
I don't want to doubt that.
I'd love to see you fight to prove me
wrong.
But I'm not sure you care enough to try.

Such a story weaver am I, that I deceived even
myself.
Which means there is no one to blame, but
me.