Women are wounder full beings, strange and hard to fathom, when we are close to understanding, they do something new to confound us. Each one is unique and beautiful in her own way, although covered in layers of defenses, one added for every person that hurt her.
Yet we poor men are drawn to these sirens, many perish on the wrecks of who has gone before hearing only the song not seeing only the goal or the dangers, unaware. Then ask "why" as we sink in the icy waters after embracing a phantom as the truth, not ever truly seeing the goal, feeling only the pang of loss, not knowing that we never truly had.
But a man seeing the goal at the end, and avoiding the phantom and the shoals, even in falling short of the prize, will not hold malice in his heart upon parting, but hope in knowing what may be.