I make fun of his love
And his cheesy 2 a.m. poetry
He's chased her for six long years
And it doesn't make any sense to me

I say, I might be dead in six years
How did your love not die?
He says, he needed the six years
To be able to survive his life

That she reminded him of soft sunsets:
I reminded him, she was cold
He insists on her rosy pictures.
Oh, love and its blindfolds...

I laugh but he knows I'm crying
How does it feel to be loved? I ask
I wish I'd caused six moments of longing
At least six seconds, perhaps

I remember those who said they liked me
After six minutes of mindless chats
I remember being amused and flattered
But never moved by any of that

I never felt connected, I tell him
He asks me if I felt stuck
Yes, I didn't feel loved, I say,
In any case, not loved enough

I suppose it's just me, I finally say,
But I think it's too soon to conclude
He says he'll chase money now
Chasing love is of no use

We bond over our lovesick hearts
Our fragile little friendship starts
As we wait six years, both of us
To woo or to be wooed.