The Girl of Dreams

Poets, writers, and artists have tried to capture her beauty, her essence in their works. They attempt to perfectly replicate the perfect slope of her curves and the subtle sensuality beneath the surface of the shimmering mirage of divinity. She's not the kind of beautiful you want to take care of, not the kind of beautiful you want to protect. She's the kind of beautiful you want to bow to, the kind of beautiful that makes you feel insignificant. It's the beauty of the moon and the sun creating a perfect ring of light, like a glimmer of hope, and that glimmer in life is her.
I'd like to think I'm not the type to obsess about someone, but I am. I'd let her image become stuck in my mind, like all of those lyrics, but unlike the lyrics on a constant flow, she's wedged in a solid gap that seems as though it was made for her. I can't help but stare at her, my eyes refusing to blink, head refusing to turn away. It's as though something within me knows that if I do look away, for even a second, I'll miss something amazing. And she is the essence of amazing, so everything she does is amazing embodied. Even more devastating than just looking at her, is listening to her. Hearing her beautiful mind in her liquid stream voice sends shivers down my spine and I force myself not to mis-imagine her. I have to keep repeating to myself that she's human, and that I shouldn't forget that. She carries herself with such poise, but I know that there's more to her. More that she will not share with me. But probably some beautiful boy who will eroticize her, objectify her, and reduce her to far less than she is when he remembers her. But if he makes her happy, truly happy, then I will be satisfied.

NOTE: this is fiction.