You? or the idea of You?

When I walk in, you walk out.

It's like you were never even there.
Like you never even cared.

I gaze into my angel's eyes.
I reach out to touch your face, but you aren't there.

It's late, and I need your lips on mine.

I lean in for a sweet caress, and the space next to me is suddenly empty.

I close my eyes, waiting for you to hold me tight.
It's cold tonight, but you don't move.

I'm in love with a statue, a rock.
The idea of you, but not really you.
But the idea is great.

So why must you keep running away?