Across the room, I see you, and I don’t.
For somewhere else, your mind is at this time;
And I will ask, although I know you won’t
Say anything is wrong. No, all is fine —
Yes, all is fine within this perfect mess,
For you’re resigned to your unhappiness;
Across the room, the man that you might see
Has met no hope, fulfilled no fantasy —
But he’s not mean, or bad, so you feel wrong.
The lack you feel’s no wound, and there’s no salve:
To want someone, something that you don’t have,
And dream of other lives; all day to long —
And I’ve done all of this to you, I see:
So go on, then.
I set you