April 20, 2009
She is an angel. A child.
She dances with perfection. With ease.

I watch silently, in desperation.
Her long brown curls bounce. Brush her cheeks.
Ebb like the waves she stands in.

Things I will never do.
The wind stirs my hair.
It whispers, “She is a ghost.”

Her laughter handles my heart with silent curiosity.
Her parents love her. Console her. Care.
Things no one has ever done to me.

She is a ghost, to me. She breathes.
Like no other.
She is free.

I stand. Only loneliness. Time to leave.
For I am the ghost.
And she cannot see me.

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Sarah K. said...
Apr. 28, 2009 at 2:56 am
Hey! My gosh this is insane (as in insanely good)!! I love how she's the ghost to him, but really he's the ghost. Insanity! (In a good way of course). :)
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