For the first time, in her selective memory

she lies in bed, alone

without a light or heartbeat to keep her company.

Her heart beats, in rhythm with her thoughts.

She barely knows the way to her own door

yet she knows the feeling of being a stranger

in her own body,

living out a fellow stranger’s fantasy.

Today,

she is a stranger in the life she claims to lead

and has spent her life escaping.

I watch her, in my mind

and focus on the eyes

that no one has ever noticed.

I watch her look up

without the coy, seductive glance

that melts you at her feet,

immune to all but your screaming heart.

Her simple, child’s play touches

suppressing your mind

in wordless ecstasy.

Instead, she stares blankly ahead

with human eyes, devoid of charcoal outlines,

from a world she vaguely remembers belonging to,

My world

of loneliness and purity;

where morals override everything she lives for,

while I do the same

from the world she left me

that I can’t quite escape.

Ideally, we’d switch roles

and reclaim our lives.

She would wait forever for me to find her,

wherever she is

she saves me, just to find a simple answer.

We save each other just to feel justified,

fighting our separate realities.

She wouldn’t have to give herself

to everyone she sees.

I wouldn’t have to hide myself

from everyone that looks.

But what I feel somehow doesn’t measure up to love.

I have a feeling that tonight is the first night

she’s ever been alone with her thoughts,

and the first night I’ve known I would survive

if she never thought of me again.