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Every day she saw him in his window typing at his computer or reading a book. Some days, she could hear music coming out of his partly open window. But each day she dreamt of him without him knowing of how she pined for him. To himself, he was just a man. But to her, he was a dream. A goal, a skyscape, unattainable and beautiful. What sorts of dreams rested behind his tenderness? Green fields, blue skies, and white clouds? Being nice was not enough. If only, he could also be hers. |
Copyright ©2017 Ashi Shadow -10/8/17 Noticed a woman who seemed college age that seemed to be watching me through my window while I was listening to music with the window open and writing another poem (I was writing "DREAMING IMPROBABILITIES)"