And there she was in front of me, as sudden as the former sentence was written, she is the incarnation of beauty, mesmerized, I stare into the blackness of her hair resting on the magnificent thrones of her shoulders, soothing as the smooth summer breeze kissing the foreheads of weary humans going about their troublesome daily lives. Her eyes are priceless pearls worth fighting for among pirates and commanders of fleets, shining bright for the unfortunate soul of mine like a treasure long lost and finally found, salvation to the sinner I, the healing to the plagued I and a destination to the wandering I. Her figure is poetry to the aspiring poet in me inspiring words I had no previous knowledge of, a vision for artistic creations of old and a dark spell I remain under.
I walk the plain streets every morning, wander in prolonged routes with childish hope I would see her passing by, longing for a moment in time where I would ultimately find anything to spew instead of writing this nonsensical piece in the empty pages that call her name and depict her face, all in vain, all in worthlessness.
I had vowed not so long ago that she would be the savior of what I perceive as my dark future, but with time passing swiftly through my senses like a sharpened blade and with all that is logical standing against my wanting, my vow appears fleeting, feeble, like the murmuring of the gravely wounded promising to slay their murderers, like the drunken rambling of the poor aiming for sudden wealth, but the dying will meet their maker before their vengeance, the drunken will pour more wine, the poor will get poorer with foolish hopes of riches and my thirst will never be quenched.
I will remain watching, wanting, yearning, longing, mourning what will never be and writing about worlds I may never perceive for my curse is wishing and rarely do wishes come true.