The burl image strolls towards me. Its loafers whispering
soft stories to the cemented floor. The winds bring me his fragrance that
smells like my knight prince. My eyes dilate to catch the full image of the
fantastic phenomenon before me. I sight heavily to settle the tickling
sensation in my cores, suppressing a smile. A Greek God in full armor, the largely
built figure walked right across me with pride and confidence shading mine.
Butterflies were long gone; it gave me anesthesia. I keep staring as it goes into
void trying to picture my stolen heart.
(This is purely fiction and please don't report this to my parents ;p) .. My fantasies were coated by perfect men from books who spoke perfect words to flow the hem of my skirt and the strings of my heart. These men knew every poem ever written and every fairytale ever told. These men loved children and respected women. These men were crafted from a woman's pencil. I longed for these men. Painful to realize a real man is made of dirt and dust. They are made up of rhythmless tunes and mismatched words. They are clever yet need help to understand their feelings. They make me grip my hair and groan in distress. I could never find a prince of books. Then I got a man. Perfect at see but flawed at saw. These hip of imperfections could not match my dreams. Mismatch at its finest. 1 don't want to see but I observe and am curious. Who is this? Who is he who dreams of me? One of his kind, I dare say. The open arms invite me and hug me so tight, it's difficult to breathe. Actions...
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