I found myself believing everyone loved me; my self-worth being so high,
I was like Wordsworth’s cloud glancing at things with joy from the sky.
I really thought people were in love with me. This made me shy.
I had no ambition; I was sweet as could be,
due to the only thing that matters: my own vanity.
Those who have no self-worth enter into scams, seductions, and schemes.
But there I was, pleasant, polite, and passive, believing my own dreams.
I was intoxicated and heroic in my mind, flying over the dwarves
who stole moments to gaze at me, even as they lifted heavy boxes on the wharves.
I asked you to be mine and you looked at me quizzically as you said: “silly, of course, yes.”
That’s all I cared about. The rest of the story is anyone’s guess.