ilona

So, you know what is coming. Yes, you know I am writing about you. I told you. I wanted to spend some moments writing something to your heart. I believe in its beauty. In you. I can sense great warmth deep inside you. I am photoless, maybe you are challenging my terrible memory. God, you looked perfect tonight. More beautiful than ever before.

I look back over the evening. It was like car crash TV. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I couldn't waste my own time playing or fidgeting (as she was) when such a fascinating being sat in front of me. She was a good friend. So beautiful and confused. Perhaps. I loved her. I wanted to see her again soon. Not wait months like before today. She had a good heart. A good crazy heart.

The flame flickered behind the left side of her face, the right from where I sat, it licked the edge of her face. Mostly her face was in darkness, but her eyes were piercing the night, stunning it in its tracks as it was just appearing. They were sharp and gentle, utterly compelling. She was smoking, playing with the lighter, or the cigarette, or a nail that she had found and used to scratch a sticker off the table. Anything. I was holding her, in my head at least. She had no idea how lovely she was. Unfathomably insecure. Golden. 

Some people are so far from boring that life with them seems multicoloured. I hadn't seen these colours of this woman, of her tapestry, her life painting, for so long. All I wanted to do was stay with her. She had to go. I had to go. Not knowing when. We will see each other again. Yeah, she was a good woman, I wanted to shake her like a kids rattle, send some joy her way, make her see it really is all ok. Thinking too much is overrated. Not for everyone. Some are at the other end. Some are vacant vessels. This was about her though. Her faults were potentially gorgeous, sweet, delightful.

She sings in a choir. I'd love to wrap my ears around that. She hates photos. I can't even get a crafty one. I want one of this magic person so much, but I want her to let me, not to force the door down. It doesn't feel right. It is a shame that such a perfect looking woman declines something so natural. She is odd. Spectacular. Odd. It's to love her for, not the reverse.