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I have my share of men.
I've never had a problem with that.
Some are young and strapping, rippling with muscles,
Anxious to demonstrate their physical prowess.

I've known romantics and intellects and sinners and fools.
I've known musicians and sages and rich men of power who needed to
impress me.
I've known men who loved me, men who lusted for me.
Men who were just fascinated by the mystery of me.

But none of them are you...

I've flirted with the danger of new men for me.
I've rounded up my past. I've made myself known to those who thought
I was dead.
I gave them hope of having me again.
But only so I could forget you.

This isn't working. There is an emptiness when you are not here
That none of them can fill.
You could feel more than they could, do more, follow through more.
I wasn't afraid when I was with you.
You gave me something to hurt for, to long for.

It isn't the same without you...

I can forget and move on, but I would only be living half a life.
Somewhere, the wind will whisper your name, but it will be a hollow
shell of what you were to me.
It would feel familiar, and my heart will ache and I won't know why.
And I will trudge on, cold and self-rightuous,
But hollow.

I see them glance at me, wanting me, or not.
But they still aren't you.