Tell me. How do you make it seem so effortless? In a sea of people. In a sea of utilitarian things. All hiding behind gray clouds. You emerge. You capture my eyes and all I can see is you. They march but you stand. Marching to get to where they go to learn what they already know. Why must life be a process? You eliminate all my insecurities. Nature being consumed by this utilitarian being. You’re the last bit of natural beauty left in my world. I hope you see yourself as useless. Useful things bring uniformity. With a beauty like yours, you should illuminate. Broaden the narrow focal point in which everyone sees. Is it too soon to tell you I love you? I rather stay as I am. Looking from a distance. A distance. Oh how distant we are. Nameless beauty afar, I write to you to tell you what I am thinking, what I am feeling, and, above all, to tell you to remain the way you are.
The morning gusts of wind bring me your unfamiliar scent. I enjoy it, and want to bathe in it. Cleanse myself. The Sun shines on your delicate and smooth, curvaceous and undefined shape. Your figure, so unfamiliar. And your garments. Crafted by hand? They sway freely with the slight movements you make. You’re colorful. And your color gives color to my grayish days. Your chest a canvas. Lovely place for art. I see a heart. Are you in love? A heart breaking from chains. Who are you? I feel you, though I know nothing of you. I want to know you. Your name. Must be pleasing to pronounce. I love you more with each breath. If you were to look my way, I wouldn’t know what to do. But, I do know what you could do. There’s so much about you. You’re different. I hope for the world to be more like you. Overtime. Sometime.
In the distance I see you. In the distance no one else does. Or cares to. I write to you to tell you I think I love you. Don’t find it strange; just take it as a compliment. A butterfly in front of me. Uniform and mechanical caterpillars all around me. Biting at me. But you broke my routine, and made me see something I am not use to seeing. Crafted by hand. Who and/or what determines what is good for me? What is beautiful for me? Is it in output? Money? You are priceless my dearest and mysterious beauty. Multi-dimensional. True definition of happiness. Not a thing. Womanly. I hope you write me back. As always, I will be here.
Your Distant Admirer