I’ve seen this girl before, but only at night in the depths of my subconscious mind. The perfect curls of her long red hair flowing so delicate upon her shoulders. Her skin, blank and pale. No imperfections such as freckles or scars. Her skin, smooth and soft to the touch. The eagerness I feel to talk to this woman is overwhelming, but I can’t muster the confidence. Her movements, so precise. She has complete control over her body and actions. Her Egyptian eyes, bright green, sparkle in the dim light of the room we both share. Her **** lips forming a smile to reveal the straight white teeth behind them. The face I see before me I’ve kissed and touched a thousand times, but I do not know this girls’ name. Even the black dress with satin pleats underneath her bust fit the exact imagining pictured on the curtains of my eyelids. She sits at the bar and does not take notice to the holes my intense staring have burned. I pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming again. Feeling the slight pain, I come to terms. It has been proven to me that angels do exist. Every sip of my drink begins to taste better than the one before. I second guess every move I make and she’s not even looking my way. All the signs are clear and I’ve already fallen in love.
There he is. The picture I envisioned. I didn’t think it was possible. This man is sitting in a folder in the closet of my studio; wasting in the charcoal and paper I created him. Every imperfection and feature matches perfectly. His slightly over grown brown hair that waves at the ends and his ****** hair the very length my hands and creativity mastered in still life. He stands to pull a cigarette out of his pocket and I see his height and slim figure. He looks at me and I smile as I look away to fake a drink. I look up again and he’s sitting, smoking, and running his fingers through his hair. A shiver runs down my spine and I wonder if I became a psychic over night. How could I paint a picture of a person I’ve never seen before and then see them in real life? I guess this could be the man of my dreams. The artist in me pictured exactly the man I would fall in love with and God gave him to me. My stomach ceases to function and my toes can feel my heartbeat. I feel myself falling and if his voice reaches my ears the ground might find me as a burden. This man could be my masterpiece. I get up to take a seat closer. I’ll need another drink if I’m going to initiate any sort of conversation. I sit down and he immediately looks my way. “Hello,”
She came close and I think I said some words out loud. She looked at me and smiled. My brain no longer has any activity, and all I can focus on is her beauty and the fact that she’s real and existing before me. “Hello, I’m Elizabeth.” She spoke, and I heard nothing else. She spoke, and lit the room so bright I could see nothing else. “Hello Elizabeth, I’m Andrew” Panic gripped my heart and the sounds of the public vanished. She had me, all of me. Lost in her words and swimming in her scent. I asked what she did, and she answered with artist. I listened as she spoke of her accomplishments and her soft voice soothed my worry. The stress settled and the determination took over.
He asked me questions. He became interested in what I had to say. The look of his brown eyes locked onto mine gave me the secure feeling that he cared. I asked what he did, and he answered with writer. I listened as he spoke of his stories and his voice took over my mind. I shriveled in his presence and in my sight he was the only man alive. My heart was dead set on what I had to gain. I’ll be you art if you’ll be my tongue. The conversation kept and the evening froze. After hours of laughter and secrets I found the weakness invade. He yawned and touched my hand. Electricity shrieked through my blood veins. He pulled away quickly and I looked him in the face to express that it was okay.
She smiled at me and I heard music begin to play. I took her hand and rose to my feet. She steadily followed my motion and stood close to me. I turned to face her and our eyes locked in sync. I put my arms around her and moved to the symphony. She danced along and wrapped her arms around my neck. I felt as though we connected. Our hearts beating together, our breathing steady, our attention focused only on each other. I’m controlling the steps we take but you’re the one leading the way.
The romance this man beholds is more than I can bear. His hands on my waist, dancing in the middle of a public place. No music is playing, just the tune of our bodies. I must know who he is, inside and out. I want to know his dreams and passions. I need to wake to my creation, my gift from god, my new reason for life, everyday. Feeling his touch is hopeful. Hopeful that tomorrow could feel like today.
I’ve seen this girl before, at this very same bar. She orders the same drink, and sits with the same two girls, every time. She does not know that she plagues my mind. I write all my sorrows and keep my thoughts inside.
I’ll see this girl again tonight. She’ll take me over and my imagination will run wild. My dreams are where she’ll stay, whether at night or during the day. More in love I’ll fall, and perfect in my mind she’ll remain. I rise from my seat, ready for my journey home. Leaving an empty glass and a napkin with a note,
“I’ll be your art if you’ll be my tongue; together a masterpiece is waiting to be born.”
This is obviously a short story, and not a poem.