5 am, a cold, dark December morning
I steeped out into the bus stop
It was deserted save for a suppressed cough
I found the owner,
You had a scar.
The mist lifted,
And cold, dark brown eyes stared back at me
In confusion I took a few steps back
Startled and strangely pleased
By your close proximity.
I wanted to reach out.
Caress your scar,
Ask your name,
But the words never came
And the cruel mist engulfed you again,
You went away,
I felt cold again.
You came in my dream,
You spoke my name
So every morning I came back
But every time you went away,
You never asked my name,
I never asked yours.
Till it became a daily ritual
To learn up every detail of you
Your clothes, your countenance,
The navy blue muffler which wrapped your neck,
Your hair which I dreamt
Of running my fingers over,
Each freckle, each eyelash,
The slight furrow of your brows,
Your carefully suppressed smile
Betrayed by your unfaithful lips.
And you watched me each time
From the corner of your eyes,
An art which you had perfected.
I know this will come to an end
With nothing more than our
Silent glances, our inconspicuous blushes,
Our rushing heartbeats.
We will leave it there,
Afraid of the brutal world
Afraid of the indictment
That would destroy our lives
So you go your way, I go mine
But I will carry the images of two ghosts
Lost in the mist of a December morn.
PS-This one is based rather loosely on an account by Killjoy who asked me to write from the point of view of a girl who used to watch him every morning!