the threads in her head

I thought I caught a glimpse of you that day.

Long chestnut brown hair; falling down in its gentle waves. A smile had lighted up your face and I thought I heard peals of your sweet laugher. But alas, I knew that the sweet sound was but a conjuration of my mind, for so far away you were from me. I could only gaze at you from below as you strolled across the bridge, going further, further away from me.

I would like to think you’re different from other girls who have captured my eyes. For those who had, had done so with flaming robes, and extravagant behaviour. Yet you, my girl, you passed me like a gentle wind, quiet, only seeking to provide comfort. Indeed, you were a sight for weary eyes. My girl, my youth is spent, and in the last few moments of life, you have unknowingly breathed grace onto my life. The greyness of old age had slowly filtered out to the luminance of a pale rainbow due to a sight of you.

In this world tainted with lusts and evils, you seemed pure and untarnished.

My girl, do you know I’m waiting below the bridge, to just sight you once more? But at the same time, I fear the second-sighting, fear that this picture-perfect image might be shattered, and that I would hear the tinkling of glass breaking echo in my ear...