I wrote this poem about you. Oh boy did I ever. It was spectacular. This riveting tale of you and our love. Probably one of the best pieces of writing in my collection. As I was writing it I couldn’t help but brag to myself. “Not only are you a fabulous writer but you also have the man who is the inspiration for this masterpiece”. I was so proud. To write about you. To have you to write about. And when I finished I couldn’t wait to read it. So I did- I read it. What a mistake that was. Because what was a masterpiece when I started writing had transformed into a piece of trash by the time I finished reading. Not the words. They were perfect. But that poem was supposed to be about you and what I wrote wasn’t about you. No, what I wrote was about another man. The you I want you to be. You were supposed to be the inspiration for that poem. But what was really the inspiration was my vision of who I think you should be. I thought I wrote this poem about you. But I didn’t. I wrote this about the you I’m trying to make you become. And now it’s worthless.