I sat down and wrote sentences as they came into my head. I don't know if this is poetry or not... I think it might be. I suck at poetry so I have no idea why I wrote this.
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There was a girl.
There was a girl with sand on her tongue and spiders in her hair.
She was so... different. Unconventional. Unchartered territory, almost.
Attractive to some yet repulsive to others.
She watched. She watched life from afar, never getting close enough to feel what it was like for herself.
From her archipelago she saw those who clashed, cried, corrupted, betrayed, inveigled, deracinated.
She also saw those who fell in love;
The sight of which always made her scoff.
Though she secretly wanted to be just like them...
There came the rare occasion when a suitor would show interest. The scenes would replay themselves in her head, all the instances of love, compassion, amorosity, fire;
She pined for it.
She fooled herself, tricked herself into believing the impossible:
That she was meant for such things.
Each time it was the same:
He wanted to reach out, pull her away from her insularity. Like a fool, she played into it, aching to feel that which she had never felt. Yearning to be touched, held,
Loved.
Their fingertips, almost touching, his scent... so close... so close...
So close...
Then She came.
She was always somewhat varied but the attributes were more or less the same: Hair that glowed, eyes that gleamed, scuplted as if from marble in an ancient Roman temple.
It happened so fast;
It was always so fast.
And there was the girl.
With sand on her tongue
And spiders
in her hair.
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