He looks but never touches.
It's his guiltily pleasure in this chaotic world.
(Lies, and deceit, and war, and the curve of her hips…)
He longs to whisper words into flawless skin.
Sign away his soul and claim every inch of her.
Is possessiveness a flaw?
(Perhaps it's the wolf in him)
He allows himself to drink her in.
(Always in silence, never a word)
This is all he can have of her.
(Memories fade; the image of her lodged safely in his mind)
Men have wasted away in front of that mirror.
(Look but never touch)
And he finds himself wishing she were his mirror.
The one thing he wants but can never have.
(But she begs and pleads and just won't leave)
They would never understand.
(We were all born to die)
She cried. He walked away.
(Emotions destroy the best of us)
He thinks love is over rated.
(The woman chasing the man? Oh how modern.)
He laughs. Alcohol makes the edges fuzzy and he finds it hard to stand.
(Why settle for a mirror when he can look and touch and feel?)
He ends up on the floor.
(Perhaps her clumsiness is catching? Or maybe he just drank too much…)
She's too young.
(And everything he needs)
She can be who ever he wants her to be.
(Wanting her was never the problem.)
Her eyes are midnight blue and filled with concern as she helps him to his feet.
(No, not pity, never pity.)
And he wishes it were different.
(Just let me love you)
She deserves someone young and whole and normal.
(What, I beg of you, is normal?)
Square one is a great place to start.
(Then why do they always end up here?)
But he finds it hard to sleep that night, her handprint burning holes into his skin.
(And he has enough scars as it is)
But now he realises.
(A bottle of vodka to make him see)
'erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi'
(I show not your face but your heart's desire.)
