Dronee
1
*Practice* *Feelings* *Obscure* *Something new*
***
Have my secret dreams followed me into the waking world? I did not remember sleeping but here you are gliding. Gliding into my life like some princess from a fairytale. The modern day Cinderella with the sparkle in your eyes as the streams of sunlight dance around you.
The rest of us were too jaded to notice your enchanting waltz. You are both the Waking Beauty and the Witch. For from the moment you entered, you had bewitched me. What spell did you weave that had ensnared me so? I, the only one not quite as jaded. Not jaded enough to be blind to the glittering jewel of your smile.
And when you left, I told myself that it was always too good to be true. There is a balance to things. Someone that blessed with external beauty must have a terrible flaw deep in her character. The worm in Cezanne's Apple. My legs disagreed and began a light cheerful skip as they walked along... Traitors... And with that, my lips joined the mutiny and started to twitch in the beginnings of a grin.
The days went by as they always did. Slowly... ever so slowly that they crept into weeks and later months. All this while, my rational mind searched for the Witch in the Beauty. We studied together in the strangest hours of the day and night to satisfy our professors' innate desire to torture their charge with endless assignments. We talked over the telephone. You told me of the wonders and horrors of modern technology and how you often fought for the cause of the environment and the destitute.
But I must be a very evil man as I mostly only thought of you as we discussed all manner of serious things. Wondering of the beauty that has come to me and fearing that it is all a dream. But if this was a dream, it is more vivid than waking. I saw the world anew with fresh colors like a painter.
I began painting once again. A once dead hobby resurrected by my desire to capture the jubilant woman I've met. Vivacious. If I were a poet I'd craft a poem using that very word and its siblings. The revival of a man once barely surviving in life by a vivacious woman of vivid spirit. But alas, I'm no poet or writer. At best, I am a mediocre painter, dreaming to paint that which is the very opposite of mediocre.
And so I painted you in all the hues that you showed me. But for you, I never knew that I never knew. That life in living need not fade to the office gray. And everyday is brand new, ever-fresh, evergreen. The crimson of your lips, the coal black of your hair... ever ready to spark my curiosity. And azure... Azure is the color of your gaze on me when you thought I was not looking. Soft as the clouds that roam carefree and soft as your tender tentative touch on my shoulder. If I was the romantic sort, I'd call you an angel... but I know. I know that angels are powerful, great and mighty. You are no angel... for you are loving, caring and vulnerable even as you are strong in your convictions.
But sadly... I'm not a poet or a writer. I cannot describe my feelings for you. I'm not even a painter in truth. I'd love to paint you and me together one day in a bright sunny meadow where the colors live and play. I'd love to tell you a fraction of what I feel. I'd love to make you believe in yourself and convince you that you're someone who is very beautiful... and to give you strength so that you won't cry or to be there when you do. Mostly, I'd love to paint you and I together.
Yet, every time I try to paint myself differently, it always turn out the same. Ill-defined, fragmented, of a weak dull color. It is not a good composition to place you and I together in the same painting. You belong with a background of sunshine, hope, evergreens and love with a prince charming beside you... and even with the brightest of colors beside you, you'll always outshine them all... While I... I belong to the dull office gray of lost causes, stuck in a yesterday that even the Langoliers dare not venture. And even in this bleakest of backgrounds, I'd recede...
Now our paths are forever separated, never to meet again. But when I close my eyes, it's still you that I see... And it's you who smile to me in my dreams...
***
***
Have my secret dreams followed me into the waking world? I did not remember sleeping but here you are gliding. Gliding into my life like some princess from a fairytale. The modern day Cinderella with the sparkle in your eyes as the streams of sunlight dance around you.
The rest of us were too jaded to notice your enchanting waltz. You are both the Waking Beauty and the Witch. For from the moment you entered, you had bewitched me. What spell did you weave that had ensnared me so? I, the only one not quite as jaded. Not jaded enough to be blind to the glittering jewel of your smile.
And when you left, I told myself that it was always too good to be true. There is a balance to things. Someone that blessed with external beauty must have a terrible flaw deep in her character. The worm in Cezanne's Apple. My legs disagreed and began a light cheerful skip as they walked along... Traitors... And with that, my lips joined the mutiny and started to twitch in the beginnings of a grin.
The days went by as they always did. Slowly... ever so slowly that they crept into weeks and later months. All this while, my rational mind searched for the Witch in the Beauty. We studied together in the strangest hours of the day and night to satisfy our professors' innate desire to torture their charge with endless assignments. We talked over the telephone. You told me of the wonders and horrors of modern technology and how you often fought for the cause of the environment and the destitute.
But I must be a very evil man as I mostly only thought of you as we discussed all manner of serious things. Wondering of the beauty that has come to me and fearing that it is all a dream. But if this was a dream, it is more vivid than waking. I saw the world anew with fresh colors like a painter.
I began painting once again. A once dead hobby resurrected by my desire to capture the jubilant woman I've met. Vivacious. If I were a poet I'd craft a poem using that very word and its siblings. The revival of a man once barely surviving in life by a vivacious woman of vivid spirit. But alas, I'm no poet or writer. At best, I am a mediocre painter, dreaming to paint that which is the very opposite of mediocre.
And so I painted you in all the hues that you showed me. But for you, I never knew that I never knew. That life in living need not fade to the office gray. And everyday is brand new, ever-fresh, evergreen. The crimson of your lips, the coal black of your hair... ever ready to spark my curiosity. And azure... Azure is the color of your gaze on me when you thought I was not looking. Soft as the clouds that roam carefree and soft as your tender tentative touch on my shoulder. If I was the romantic sort, I'd call you an angel... but I know. I know that angels are powerful, great and mighty. You are no angel... for you are loving, caring and vulnerable even as you are strong in your convictions.
But sadly... I'm not a poet or a writer. I cannot describe my feelings for you. I'm not even a painter in truth. I'd love to paint you and me together one day in a bright sunny meadow where the colors live and play. I'd love to tell you a fraction of what I feel. I'd love to make you believe in yourself and convince you that you're someone who is very beautiful... and to give you strength so that you won't cry or to be there when you do. Mostly, I'd love to paint you and I together.
Yet, every time I try to paint myself differently, it always turn out the same. Ill-defined, fragmented, of a weak dull color. It is not a good composition to place you and I together in the same painting. You belong with a background of sunshine, hope, evergreens and love with a prince charming beside you... and even with the brightest of colors beside you, you'll always outshine them all... While I... I belong to the dull office gray of lost causes, stuck in a yesterday that even the Langoliers dare not venture. And even in this bleakest of backgrounds, I'd recede...
Now our paths are forever separated, never to meet again. But when I close my eyes, it's still you that I see... And it's you who smile to me in my dreams...
***
And touching with the low self esteem of the person telling the story, i could relate.