Her name was Mystery
She loved poetry, so I thought I’d write her some

Hangnails always lived on the sides of her thumbs
The same thumbs she used to type up her future book ideas with

Music flowed through her body like waves in the ocean

She fell in love with characters she’ll never meet
But she had so much hope

Optimistic, she was

She danced with the hillsides of mountains
And taught me about aliens

She swore she was from Elsewhere
I guess Mystery is trapped inside a fake reality
A world she created herself

Mystery loved movies
She told me she wanted to be in some, one day
But I told her she didn’t need to be fictional
And she said
“Maybe I already am”