An artist-a poet rather, fell in love with the simplicity in her reflection. She wrote; penned sestinas to her name, odes to her graces, attempted to infringe on the fine lines of ballads. She was in love with herself. One morning, when the sun started out its quest to reach the zenith of his sky, she sat at her desk facing the bustle down below. Gazing at herself smeared on the window, a dark limping figure wrapped in the finest silk of enigma, standing out amongst the vibrant color of euphoria, caught her gaze.  She was both intrigued and baffled: an artist bane. She kissed her reflection goodbye and started on her journey to seek out the silent stranger.

She chased, many moons came and left while glorious suns gave up their thrones. And still she persevered: running, stumbling. She caught to the fringes of the stranger’s coat and tugged, revealing a woman so pale with eyes drowning in weariness.

“Why are you seeking me out” Came barely audible words as the stranger looked over shoulder.

She swallowed, “You have something I want to know more about. Why is your silence so loud.”

The stranger wrenched the coat from her grasp and turned to face her.

“I have a human shaped hole plastered on my heart. Everyone I’ve met has left a story inside of me and yet taken a piece of my heart with them. I am lost when I sought, was to be found.”

You are a terribly beautiful language. If only I could roll my tongue around your epitome. I fluster and stumble over the truth of you.

You want to understand me , but you have no clue as to why I am. How I tick. What inspires me. What drives me deeper into the ground. I am deeply confined within the walls of myself. I do not need people to reach into me, or sympathize by my walls. Just listen. It’s all you can do.