You are the figure who passes by my window;
The black that breaks the uniformity of the light
The stain that breaks the white folds of my curtain
The shape my heart throbs at sight.

You are the shadow I peek across my sills
The silhouette I long to meet
The fiction I fancy to be real
The phantasm I recall, over and over, in my head.

You are but real as a dream;
So near, yet far.