She's perfect.

Blonde hair, blue eyes.

The picture of someone you want to love forever.

She'd let you, love her, I mean.

But you're afraid one day she'd tire of you, dispatch you like last months fashions.

She wouldn't do that.

But you don't know. You don't know much, do you?

So your two afraid to hold her, to love her.

So you pass her by, and you pretend you don't know her.

Pretend you don't know her blonde hair, her blue eyes, you just let her walk away.

And you pretend not to notice the longing in her eyes.