the story comes, the story goes,
she falls in love, it has its woes;
but there she is amid the throes
of something she’s been seeking
the story starts, the story ends,
now everything on him depends;
will they stay lovers or be friends
or one day cease from speaking?
this story started with the fall,
she’s in it now, she’ll give her all;
and write love notes in loopy scrawl
and laugh when she’s not crying
she feels his arms around her waist,
a love she would not leave in haste;
but truth is truth and must be faced,
and there’s no truth for lying
You have captured this common dynamic perfectly with your words, Owen. She’s in love with her fantasy, not the reality of the actual person. She twists herself in knots to make it work and he gives her enough of what she wants to keep the fantasy alive. This is not nefarious or even conscious, necessarily. Ok, I’ll stop the rant! It’s just so exciting for me when it’s explained clearly, especially in a poetic format. Thanks for listening.