Is there such a thing as too picky?
What’s so wrong about knowing exactly what I want?
All I really want is to meet someone
and not even realize what I’m getting into.
To be so love drunk
that I probably shouldn’t be driving.
To feel the whirlwind
as it flows through what’s left of my hair.
Then to wake up one day
and finally realize
that I’ve fallen head over heels in love.
That I’ve been seeing the world
under the influence of a spell (but in a good way).
Then to sit down at my desk
and find out that you’ve inspired me
to write the next great American novel.
Then the two of us will live out our days
sharing a charmed life
of growing fame and bohemian parties.
So, tell me if you will:
Am I guilty of being too picky?
Or just of knowing exactly what I want?
and what, may I ask,
would be so wrong about that?