- there, there -

July 8, 2004

The Lost Romantic

I like to sit alone to think why I’m alone. I think of the one who could really make me happy. The one who can make my life complete. I think of a future with her. You know, waking up by her side. She’s wearing pajamas. I’m wearing boxers with a white shirt. The sheets are white. Or maybe blue. She wakes up and we look into each other’s eyes. We smile. I caress her face; she closes her eyes and absorbs the moment. My lips touch her forehead. We look at each other some more. Then I tickle her. She jumps up and lets out a cute little scream. I get up, thinking she might get me next. I’m really ticklish. So now we’re both up. We use our pillows for shields.

We find ourselves in this small and beautiful house. By the beach. The wood is richly decayed, with a hint of blue paint. Our pictures hang on the wall. She walks over to the sliding glass door. I walk towards her and, slowly, wrap my arms around her waist as I rest my chin on her right shoulder. She turns to me slightly. I feel her smile. I absorb the aura that surrounds her. Her scent, her warmth, and her beautiful hair. That smile. I keep thinking how incredibly beautiful she is. Everything about her. All this time she’s still a mystery. Yes. I love her. She’s a part of me.

So we look on. We watch. We listen. I kiss her cheek. Her lips. The waves crash. The birds soar above. Then further, we look on. Beyond the horizon. Where it all started. In a dream.