My smile slips upward when caressed by the delicate tendrils of art-
When music reaches for my heart, or a painting twirls my eyes to it's own accord, or words decide to dance endlessly in my mind.
When a conversation stimulates my thoughts.
Or glances at passer by´s lead to personal story books.
I lose myself.

I am not empty.

I feel light, like these things could carry me to the cosmos and bury my soul among the stars.
Like the galaxies are my own personal windows.
Like love is everywhere.
Like life was meant for someone like me, when in reality it's for someone like her.

Even I love this girl.

She you see, blooms with confidence.
Head held high she lives in rhythm.
Laughter her background music and captivation her applause.
What a beauty this girl is.
Existing is her personal ballet.
She knows how to express herself and does it so well.
She does not look at an opportunity to showcase who she is, and find herself greeted with fear.


This girl is not me, she is just the dream that resides in this body.
Strangers opinions and my own mirrors have sobered me to see this.
And still dreams unleash a certain power.
Hope cracks this shell.
Willpower yearns to meet her.
My passions tempts her every day.
The art I appreciate and even create teases her to show herself.
A sunset at the right angle whispers for her to come out.
A boy laughing soon becomes a siren, beckoning her to escape.

Even I yearn to meet her.
I guess losing myself isn't the right term.
Finding myself seems more adequate, yet that seems to admit something I can not accept yet.

The steps to unleashing her feel like so much more than steps.
They are chasms that I do not feel strong enough to cross.