Someone Else, I Think

You really wanted someone else, I think.
You always gave me orders, not suggestions,
From what I wore to what I shouldn’t drink,
And followed up with nearly endless questions:
“What makes you strange, unlikely to entwine
Your life with mine, unable to renew
Old, flat champagne or make better new wine?
Why weren’t you cleverer, and why weren’t you
A better lover?” you demanded. “Why
Did I put up with this unruly mess
Of a relationship? Years have slipped by,
And I don’t know. I couldn’t even guess.”
You wanted someone else. I didn’t change,
Which was predictable, my love, not strange.