Monica

Gone are the days when I woke up early just to see the sun come out of hiding, the golden shine of morning across a pale white and blue sky. I now crave to see your face everytime I roll in my bed, my dreams are sweeter than reality and my imaginations even better, it started on that starry night at a meeting in town when I looked at you and all I could see was beauty, all I could see was a lofty impossing smile so bright it burned my fears, all I could hear was your voice whenever you talked, you had taken my heart prisoner and your laugh crashed my doubts, with the aplomb of a seer, all I think about is you.

That very night I couldn’t sleep, for I still craved for your perfume in mid air, for once I thought I would never have a crush, till the day I saw you. I am the kind of dude so sharp I don’t rehearse, but that night, I went through my words.

“I am Shawn, I guess you are Monica. Well, as I sat across, something striked my mind, how do you feel about pizza, wine and bed?”

My mind went over the lines from time to time, till I saw you leave before the meeting was on end. I watched as you walked away, I strayed to have that last feel of your scent and to home I carried it, in my mind it lies.

Photographic memory is my prized possesion, I play you face, smile, laugh, walk and talk time on time it’s like you never left. My heart craves for yours with a craving only hearts can explain. I want to be your valet de chambre, I want to be close to you, I want to roll in my bed to find you instead of my pillow. My heart hankers to feel your touch, you are my first and only crush, or so I want to think.
Then sang the bird, so strangely gay,
Fluttering, fluttering, ghostly and gray,
A vague, unravelling, answering tune.- Vachel Lindsay.

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