VIII. my love letter to nobody

He lays the poem on her pillow, the ink just dried and the wax seal fresh. The skull holds foreboding to others in the opera house, but not to her. She smiles to see a message awaiting her from her invisible tutor, from her angel.

He slips back into the shadows, back behind the mirror to wait for her return. He has all the time in the world, and he will wait as long as it takes to see her smile at the words he has written just for her.

Most of his poems she never sees.