Dear Anonymous

Dear Anonymous, The way she touched her hair. Leaned her head to the side. Her eyes danced with mine, turning crimson I looked away. Did everyone see me? Her voice was magical. My mind acknowledged every movement. My heart took me to places that were not present. Butterflies still live. How could this be? I have lived like no other. I am no modern man. I have seen death. I have encountered danger. I have been both good and wicked. Who is she? She has picked my lock, opened the gates. My clothes were the garb of a thrift rack. God, how I felt a stranger. Could she know this? Had she seen the real me, despite my costume? Need I feel shame for truth? Truth is all I am. We walked, she laughed a time or two. The air became cool. I shivered like a child. How could I tell her; I had no coat. I am poor dear? What is poor? Her touch was electric. I felt like I had found what was lost. Her fingers long and slender. She grabbed my hand, held it to her comfort. Did she feel; what I felt? She says she will see me, again. Then she will know more. She will know my life, try as I might I cannot hide my journey. It is a story to be told. I have accumulated nothing. I have learned, however, more than I can carry. It is my story that enchants; am I more than a story? Will she walk away? Will I sit and feel empty; feel loss for the never was? Yet, how could I not walk that precipice? How could I not risk the fragility of my being? My soul would not rest without knowledge. Now I sit, melancholy ballads guide my mind to both heartbreak and bliss. I both dream and fancy a lovers' tale. Yet, I secretly desire the tragedy. The dear John letter, call, or lunch. "You know this is nice, but..." Then I can crawl back in my mind again. My mental space shares rent, a roommate that prods on desire. I cannot endure heart break one more time. I am too old to walk on this path, my angst is gone. I used to say, "Better to have loved, than not love at all!" Foolhardy! Holding hands with loneliness is safe. Dear Anonymous, will you be there? Will you listen? For I fear that she will stay, and I will be lost. From, Lost in the forest.