I'm not the girl who meets your parents;

I'm the girl you sneak out to meet 
After they've gone to sleep. 
I'm the one you sneak in at the crack of dawn 
and hide until they've all left for work. 

The girl who drives all day or night 
to meet you for a drink. Or six
The one you fill with amaretto and nicotene
Then whisk away 
To break in the hotel's sofa bed.

The girl whose comfort you seek 
When "She" just doesn't understand.
When my words soothe 
Long enough for you to realize 
What a mistake it would be to leave.

The girl you watched for years. 
From behind books, across cafeterias.
Counting spots on schedules; exchanging glances
The one you admit to always wanting 
Until she tells you that she's always wanted
The exact same thing. 

The girl you torment, and tease 
Whose hot and cold preferences you know
Because you've made them the same way 
For nearly a decade. 
The one you say you don't want 
Until someone else has her. 

I'm not the girl you end up with.  
I'm the one you'll remember fondly
With rose-tinted memories 
While I move on to the next mistake.

I'm not the girl who meets your parents.