For the first time, in her selective memory
she lies in bed, alone
without a light or heartbeat to keep her company.
Her heart beats, in rhythm with her thoughts.
She barely knows the way to her own door
yet she knows the feeling of being a stranger
in her own body,
living out a fellow stranger’s fantasy.
she is a stranger in the life she claims to lead
and has spent her life escaping.
I watch her, in my mind
and focus on the eyes
that no one has ever noticed.
I watch her look up
without the coy, seductive glance
that melts you at her feet,
immune to all but your screaming heart.
Her simple, child’s play touches
suppressing your mind
in wordless ecstasy.
Instead, she stares blankly ahead
with human eyes, devoid of charcoal outlines,
from a world she vaguely remembers belonging to,
of loneliness and purity;
where morals override everything she lives for,
while I do the same
from the world she left me
that I can’t quite escape.
Ideally, we’d switch roles
and reclaim our lives.
She would wait forever for me to find her,
wherever she is
she saves me, just to find a simple answer.
We save each other just to feel justified,
fighting our separate realities.
She wouldn’t have to give herself
to everyone she sees.
I wouldn’t have to hide myself
from everyone that looks.
But what I feel somehow doesn’t measure up to love.
I have a feeling that tonight is the first night
she’s ever been alone with her thoughts,
and the first night I’ve known I would survive
if she never thought of me again.