a beautiful song for a beautiful girl

clearly this is a work in progress!

she caught me off guard
when i first heard
her speak a single word.



she tells people she
is more than happy;
yet i sense her misery.



it takes one too know
one or so i hear.
when she does either
her make-up or hair,
she rarely ever
smiles in the mirror.



although it's been more
than a small slice of forever
since i have seen her,
i still painfully recall
her silohette in my shower.



the song she would sing
is not exactly something
you can say is even
real but it still tends
to haunt me but then
again so does everything
she had a part in.



my bathroom holds evidence
of her partial existence.
my morning ritual's a prison-
espically during these coming
winter months, fore even
a little warmth will turn
my mirror into me morning.



the steam swirls around, clings
to the surfaces and when
i can bare stealing a glance
at that mirror, i am certain
i can still see the outline
of her hand from when
she had once upon a (long)
time would lean upon
the frame of the wall in
order to bare looking
at her self while applying
the curse of being a woman.



when i'd assure her she didn't
need to bother, nothing
about her is worth covering,
she'd laugh in an odd tone
then say, 'i like the routine.'



i'd smile and nod, then
give her my utmost silence.
i'd watch her as she placed on
the mask; and i am certain
her eyes rarely locked upon
her own during the transformation.
and sigh, this i know is something
that seems old and annoying;
because i have not seen
her around in over a season-
and even longer since we've spoken,
but in this city, there isn't one
place we didn't share a second alone.