I'm standing on stilts that don't support me.
I'm wasting stamps that could have saved me.
I'm giving everything but only blown kisses return to me.
I watched as her platinum blond hair slipped away through my fingers.
Her fedora turned and she disappeared into the crowd with a wink.
Even as she turned, she still glowed with that glow that only make-up commercial models seem to have.
Even with this stingy subway lighting, she was an angel.
Her drifting long coat bounced off of the crowd's suitcases and low hanging purses and created waves better than the open ocean.
She looked like a detective with the way she was leading me on.
I could have kept going, but the doors closed on me and I was left standing on the platform.
Her deep hazel eyes locked on to mine as she drifted away with a thin smile like those of thieves.
I wanted to meet her, talk to her, listen to her story.
Maybe we'll meet again at a coffee shop or a newsstand. Maybe we'll strike up a conversation.
Some things are better left to the mind to fantasize about.
That's what makes the mystery.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
i hope you meet her. she sounds 100 times cooler than me.
ive come to a descision
im composing my favorite lines from these
and we're turning it to a song
to show you YOU can be a melodramatic fool too!
Post a Comment