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.