She was subplots and
electric cords buried beneath
the frigid ground and the
button you dropped under
your bed but forgot about as
quickly as you lost it. She was
a fading memory, a flickering
candle in the window of an
abandoned house and you
wondered, who lives there?
Who is hiding? Or is it an illusion?
Yes, she was an illusion, a figment
of the imagination. She wandered
through memories and brushed
her tinted tips along the
perimeter of your soul. She was
the ghost in stories children
told by the fire, a mysterious
creature you didn't want to stare
at yet couldn't help but to.
That was how she caught him.
The listless stare accompanied by
her piercing gaze that somehow drew him
in yet pushed him away at the
same time. She was fearful
yet alluring and he couldn't
decide what he was more afraid
of. When she slipped into
his mind he shuddered against
the coolness of her hands and
collected them in his, tightening
them in a vice grip. Bright tangerine
encompassed their hands and she
flinched, unfamiliar with this sensation.
He held her still, tugging her closer
until their bodies were sheltered in
apricot. Her head buried against
his chest, trying to hide from the
glowing light. She was trembling
and sobbing and he knew he should
let go but Jiminy said no, hold her!
She needs this. And she did. They both
didn't know how much.
Then she was gone. She had
evaporated. His hands crumbled
into dust. His body hunched
forward and he slumped to
the ground. She had taken his
moisture, his sustenance,
his soul. She was a mystery, a hidden
virtue breaking barriers without
a whisper and he had to find her.
She was the only one who
ignited the candle and his body,
his heart needed it. He shut his
eyes and drifted off, hoping
to spot her again.