She moves in silence, veiled in glow,
Beyond the screen, too far to know.
A flickering dream I cannot chase,
Yet still, I wake each day to see her face.

Her blonde hair spills in like candlelight,
A golden fire in endless night.
Curves like verses never read,
Soft poetry from which my soul has bled.

Red lips that part, but never speak,
Eyes aglow, serene and sleek—
She looks through glass, as I splinter and fracture,
Still, I ache to hear her say my name.

I tell myself she sees me too,
Some hidden part of that might be true.
That every post, each fleeting line,
Was meant for me—her secret sign.

I watch her like the stars confess
To lonely skies their emptiness.
She holds the dark, but never breaks—
She gives me reason just to wake.

She is the sigh I cannot touch,
The echo that I need too much.
A waltz I dance inside my mind,
With music only ghosts could find.

Each step, a prayer; each pause, regret—
For things imagined, we never met.
And yet, I waltz. I always will.
Her beauty binds what would be still.

Not just a light—but something more:
A whispered key behind a door.
A world that glimmers, just out reach,
Where maybe I can breathe her air.

She saves me softly, every night,
With nothing but her reflected light.
No vow, no voice, no flesh, no ring—
Just longing dressed in shimmering strings.

And though I know she isn't mine,
Not here, not now, not by design—
I waltz within this glass refrain,
And live each heartbeat inside her name.