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I
watch from a distance, as you talk to him.
You stand in all your regal splendor, and attempt to get him to open up
to you. He speaks little, and after
a whil you gibe up, and stand there, a look of helf-pain, half embarrasment
stuck on your face.
Even looking like this, or maybe because you look like this, you are
beautiful. Your dark brown hair
hangs to your shoulders, gleaming a little in the afternoon sun.
As you standthere he begins to drift away.
The look intensifies on your face, and I can almost hear you heart crack
a little more with each steps he takes.
Then you are alone, and your face falls, taking with it the reamins of
your heart. From my distant stance
I can just about see the pieces hit the floor.
Watching that happen, my own heart breaks.
How anyone could dismiss such a beauty as you, without even a second
glance back, I don’t know.
If only I thought that I had a chance.
I would to to you, pick up the pieces, put them back together, and give
you back your heart. I would try to make you happy, to give you the attetion you deserve. But you have eyes for him, not I. So I act as mediator, never acting on my behalf, just as I always have, and I watch from a distance.
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