I've never seen him as typical He was always more ethereal than this A king A god Something and someone apart from the norm Magical Intense Real Beautiful Especially beautiful Beauty in his touch Beauty in his eyes Beauty in is voice Beauty in his mind Beauty all through him Has this caused me to fall prey to what I hate done to me? Do I want to own what should never be owned, but merely appreciated? Perhaps I am not his and he is not mine, but we are just us. Perhaps he is just typical He breathes He hurts He angers Perhaps he is just a man A man any woman can have Perhaps I am just a woman And our elevated status is only existent in a memory In a lifetime long ago In a time where he was the king and I was his queen But here, Now He is just a man I am just a woman And typical is all we have left