I think I was lost,
The moment I laid eyes on you.
How very embarrassing.
I even,
For a time,
Tried to sing like you, Talk like you,
Imitated your slight french accent.
For six years, I watched you-
Not like a creeper.
Ok,
Probably like an utter creeper.
I didn't just watch, though,
We did converse. Many times,
Through the years.
Those exchanges mainly served to emphasise
Your other-ness, to show to me
That manic pixie dream-girl quality of yours,
Those hyper-widened large blue eyes,
Which seemed always a mask, but perhaps,
You were just that much the woodland creature.
The Luna to my Hermione,
Or the Persephone to my Hades...?
I carried hope, once.
Completely unfounded, mind,
But in quiet moments,
As I looked at you, like Peter Pan at Mrs Darling,
I thought I glimpsed a kiss in the corner of your mouth,
And was that my name on it?
Perhaps I am foolish still-
Picking over past interactions, for a thread-
To pull on, that might lead me-
To some hidden aspect of you, which may,
Or may not exist.
But you still go around like there's something missing from your life,
And sometimes,
I think of those old impressions, and for a moment I fancy-
It might be me.