I've always been an unusual girl,
and while other girls and boys made friends,
I fell in love with stories inside my head.
My childhood was never on earth, but
spent in far-off places in castles, where I was
a princess, or a wild viking warrior queen,
and my people loved me, they bowed, they would
clap and sing songs of praise at my benevolence,
my demure and generous character, and beauty.
And back on earth I was alone, but content with
the characters inside my head.
As years passed, their voices faded, and though
I would struggle to keep in contact, postmen won't ship
to figment places, and pen-pals are hard to keep when
they don't exist.
It's hard to realize that conversations with friends in the dark
were only really with yourself.
I became overwhelmed with
Loneliness, determined to find the people from
my stories in reality, and always hoping, always dreaming,
and always searching for the Prince, who I knew already--
who I'd spent countless nights with, laying in fields of flowers
and holding hands under the starlight, and watching the moon
pass through the night sky.
And at night, sometimes, in the real world, I would watch the
moon pass through the sky, and know that somewhere , on some distant shore in a land far, far away, that you did
exist, that maybe, at some point, we were looking at the same
moon at the same time, and for a split second, maybe, we were
inevitably and invariably connected, that our hearts could collide
even across time and space and realities.
I remember when I was a child, that I thought time stops
when you meet the love of your life, like in those stories
your parents always tell to you about how they met.
And when I saw you I knew I had seen and felt those eyes before,
that these were the eyes that had locked with mine across time and
space and reality on lonely nights spent watching the moon
pass through the night sky,
and time really did stop.
Reading this a year later, I realize how wrong I was...woops!