Оригинал: http://stihi.ru/2013/10/21/7021
You are a perfect man whom I cannot desire;
I'm just a simple girl who couldn't light your fire.
But you have found your muse, she lives right in your heart.
Here, under an old lamp I let my poem start.
When people are alike they so often attract,
But I don't want to serve the one I don't respect.
I have no desperate wish to be someone's Pygmalion,
I need that handsome guy who maybe knows Italian.
I'm writing this poem as long as I sit in my bed,
Do you ever need it? There's no sense in what I said.
You will neither read this nor appreciate my thoughts,
You don't care about me and that awfully hurts.
But to be honest, why do I need you? I can't be yours, and you can't be mine,
We are not even friends, you're not my Valentine.
We're not meant to be together, no matter how hard we tried,
We cannot come to things which once were denied.
Now I think my poem has come to the end.
He who loves me back and values me will be my friend.
You're clever and attractive but we're not meant for each other;
I'd better go for a walk with my friend and her mother.
(November 27, 2022)