Specter
I stared at her hair as it glistened in the light summer rain;
I watched as it twirled and leaped in the gentle breeze.
I admired the sway of her hips, and the way that the soles
of her feet rose and fell, all in rhythm with the bounce of
her step. I enjoyed the image her porcelain-like skin, as
well as the dark shadow that it made on the uneven pavement.
I smiled as she smiled, and frowned as she frowned. I wished
for a moment of recognition, for an instance of eye contact,
but all in vain. In the shadows I remained-
a specter,
both devoid of life and full to the brim with it. She passed me,
the image of her being so engrained in my mind that I saw her even
with my eyes closed.
I followed.
I approached her slowly, as one would a wounded animal, afraid
that she would escape the depths of my passion.
I was consumed.
I stared once again at her wet hair, still beautiful even in its lack of motion.
I admired her stagnant hips and the upturned soles of her feet. I touched
her doll skin. It felt not of porcelain, but cold paper. I smiled at her shadow.
I envied her blank, lifeless eyes.
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