She sits on a train writing him letters
She knows her words are not new
They are cloned variations
Reflecting a million hearts
Just like her own.
She knows the sloppy hand in which she writes
Most likely will never be witnessed
By his blessed eyes
The very odds are against her Will.
Yet the mere hope of her emotive missives
Touching him In some way
In One-tenth of the way he has touched her Saved her
Keeps her alive.
He is out there somewhere as she is now
He is a part of the wind too
She imagines he might be walking dark streets
Thinking a poets thoughts
Or possibly just at home
At one with his essence…
That symphonic essence.
He doesn’t know he is beautiful
Just that he feels
Much like the rest of us.
She has every one of his works
Every public moment
For sentimental study.
His very soul intrigues her
When he hurts
She hurts with him
She prays his strength
And their love for him
Will save him.
Keep him with them…
If only he can make it there
Maybe there is a way we can too
As long as he is smiling
Maybe he can show us how.
She met him once…
Knees to his chest in a corner
Every bit as fragile & open
As she’d imagined him to be.
It’s not that his eyes are inhuman
It’s that they’re more human
Then anybody is used to seeing in these times.
One might assume
Derogatory reasons for this posture Not her though... She knows better.
Life taught him to be guarded
This lesson came to be of great importance
Now that everybody wants a piece of his light
To call their own.
It’s not that he’s above humanity
But merely above her, and those like her.
She is guilty too, for that sin in a way… Craving his light.
She's just another desperate parasite with skin,
Hallowed out by life.
By her very own self
Rendering her unquenchably thirsty.
If she could only...
Selfish child, you know it would never be
Posters, and fragments of him
Line her tired walls
She surrounds herself with
Looking for the missing pieces
It could be anyone…
She dreams of him… sometimes
A dream in which she is perched in his
Never moving from her spot of contemplation.
Afraid to dirty his space with unwelcome need.
Looking out upon the vast dark quiet of his front lawn
He isn’t even there.
I’m here again… haunting
The comfort is drawn from his fortress of things
The remnants of his presence is enough for her
Sometimes, however, he comes around
Going about the usual routines
One keeps in a household, and
Every once in awhile
He’ll join her
They’ll sit in silence staring abroad
With their own separate thoughts
It carries her through the night in sleep.
very well done, extremely "real" life even though fiction, I found it interesting how you wrapped "people you have met" into a singular person, observant, from outside the window type thing...you most definitely have a way wiss zee woods
interesting, i liked the way that the words you put in italics was like what the girl was saying, it shows to me that the girl was heartbroken by the guy, well at least that is what i gotten, i liked the way you put the roman numerals in it, that makes it even more authtenic. very interesting, good work
Interesting. It is darkly captivating. It sounds like a person Stalking a celebrity. The obsession and fagility in this relationship. It is beautiful and strange. Letters she writes that she know he won't get. Staring at his posters constantly thinking about him. It is such a shallow form of love. A commitment in the body but not the heart. I think that it is very well writtena and i believe obsession is a lot like faith.