He held the power to weave spells.
He didn't look like much, on the get-go, in fact, seemed like a mousy nerd-type.
But it was when he began to speak that I met her. She's the spell he creates, every time the same one.
She's got piercing eyes that look right into your soul, they build bridges from his soul to yours, actually. She laughs a lot, a sound that makes you wonder why his words are so sad.
Her hair, that's what gives her away. She looks like the girl next door, until you notice her hair. Her hair is shiny and straight, bobbed just under her left ear, and extending in gradually increasing lengths till it nearly touches her right shoulder.
That's her personality, the surprise of an offbeat haircut.
It's the lurking danger of a forest fire on a calm summer afternoon.
That's the reason he's got volumes of emotion to convey.
She's brilliant, as is he. And together, they were as much a perfect fit as they were mutually poisonous.
He knows she exists. I know I'm not the only once who can see her.
She floats around him, chuckling softly at his funnier lines, leaning against him when it gets emotional, and once, when he performed a poem I'll never forget, she stood next to him, holding his hand, all through.
He talks to her, and this is why; even though I've never met her, even though I suspect I'm smitten just hearing about her through his verbal assault on my senses, seeing how he is because of her, I hate her.
He weaves spells for us to get swept along with, so that nobody notices that this is the time he spends only with her.
He'll walk away, thunderous applause following him, oblivious to everything as she leads him, fading a little with every step.
He knows she's not really there, she's walked out of his life a long time back. He knows that it's his heartache to bear. He knows that she's living her life somewhere, laughing that laugh, hiding her volatility better, with a new haircut, new people in her life, with a new life.
He needs to write, needs to feel, needs to be there, on that stage, because if he fails to, she'll never return.
And so he'll be back.
Grinning at us all, making us ache for reasons unknown to us.
Because she'll be back, then. She'll hold his hand.
He didn't look like much, on the get-go, in fact, seemed like a mousy nerd-type.
But it was when he began to speak that I met her. She's the spell he creates, every time the same one.
She's got piercing eyes that look right into your soul, they build bridges from his soul to yours, actually. She laughs a lot, a sound that makes you wonder why his words are so sad.
Her hair, that's what gives her away. She looks like the girl next door, until you notice her hair. Her hair is shiny and straight, bobbed just under her left ear, and extending in gradually increasing lengths till it nearly touches her right shoulder.
That's her personality, the surprise of an offbeat haircut.
It's the lurking danger of a forest fire on a calm summer afternoon.
That's the reason he's got volumes of emotion to convey.
She's brilliant, as is he. And together, they were as much a perfect fit as they were mutually poisonous.
He knows she exists. I know I'm not the only once who can see her.
She floats around him, chuckling softly at his funnier lines, leaning against him when it gets emotional, and once, when he performed a poem I'll never forget, she stood next to him, holding his hand, all through.
He talks to her, and this is why; even though I've never met her, even though I suspect I'm smitten just hearing about her through his verbal assault on my senses, seeing how he is because of her, I hate her.
He weaves spells for us to get swept along with, so that nobody notices that this is the time he spends only with her.
He'll walk away, thunderous applause following him, oblivious to everything as she leads him, fading a little with every step.
He knows she's not really there, she's walked out of his life a long time back. He knows that it's his heartache to bear. He knows that she's living her life somewhere, laughing that laugh, hiding her volatility better, with a new haircut, new people in her life, with a new life.
He needs to write, needs to feel, needs to be there, on that stage, because if he fails to, she'll never return.
And so he'll be back.
Grinning at us all, making us ache for reasons unknown to us.
Because she'll be back, then. She'll hold his hand.
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