Who are you?

I know it's not real.
I know you aren't real.
You aren't who I'd like you to be.
You aren't who you'd like to be.
But I don't think you quite understand that I still love the mess that is you.
It's like, I just know that there is a genuine guy in there.
Buried under the
lies,
secrets,
and fear of being truthful.
You are afraid of being true because truth is vulnerable.
You're in control of the lies,
you have no power over the truth.
And when you screw up and I see it, it's easier to lie your way out
Than to admit defeat and that you did something wrong.
Wrong isn't something that you do.

Who are you?

I can't stop asking myself that question.
What is with your out-of-no-where
d.i.s.a.p.p.e.a.r.i.n.g?

I don't think you realize, understand, or comprehend the extent to which
I DON'T CARE.
I don't care that you screw up. Frequently.
And I don't care that you're scared of love. Scared of ME.
Because I want you and, whether you know it or not, I'm good for you.
I won't put up with your shit but I'll forgive you if you ask.
And when everyone else leaves you
when they all get fed up with who you pretend to be,

I will be here.
Probably whether I want to be or not.
Why? Because I love you.
And that is something I know is real.