Was it a tiny coloured line,
was it a black endless nothing.

A bunch of lights, twisted, flipped and drifting
A mass of them, and among this nothigness, a shadow

It had its own charisma,
its own shape
its own personality

It shined, though black
It crumbled, though strong,
and jumped, cheerful,
but it was far,
and the brief and narrow coloured line widened

Days went by, so did people
Did friends, did more than friends, did girlfriends

None of them, full or empty, fulfilled that shape

Nor did they dislike me
I even loved some,
but I didn't

And when I found her,
the woman in the shadow shape,
dreamed I in peace