Somebody Like That
I remember when you liked me— we were kids, and you really liked me.
But I thought you were just being a friend. I liked someone else. I didn’t know better.
Now when I look for someone, I look for somebody who would want me the way you did— the type that would do anything for you, the kind straight out of a book, a fairy tale, the kind every girl dreams of.
But we grew up. You don’t like me like that anymore.
And I can’t find anyone who wants me like that now— because people like that only exist in the movies, from what I hear.
So I gave up looking. That doesn’t mean I don’t want it. It just means I want it to find me.
Because I tried. And failed one too many times.