I'm the *****, the quiet girl in the front of the class, according to the handicap stall in the upstairs boys bathroom, a ****. I love, and when I do I love to no ends. But you'd never know how much this ***** loves, because there is no love shown.
what if we could write on the stars the way we write with paper and pen? in that case, i would be writing love letters every night for a pretty soul too far away. i'd point my finger at the sky and trace it delicately, then you would go outside at night the evening breeze would whisper "look up!" and the constellations would tell of the love an admirer sends to you by cosmic delivery across distances of time and reality, from a world much different from yours.
Red lights in the night sky Twelve eyes Blinking at me curiously On top of towers which fail to pierce the sky They wink at me Almost knowingly For I am tall and lean like these Blinking often into the night Clearly in sight But rarely ever truly seen For more than an instant Or more than a two eyes Just for a moment Like the red eye passing by I blink Because I'm still alive