You are the highlight of this reel.
You are the reason she gave me a scornful look, she pities me. She knows we can't be together. She knows she has you twisted by the neck, wound around herself, like a magnet's opposing poles. You both have that ferry-like quality, the traipsing between moments, the ability to burrow flawed parts of each other into mutually scarred skin. You both understand each other, there is a sense of loss and then, there is the sunlight - which streams in with penetrating vigour, lighting up the parts which do not make sense. Those are collected moments of wisdom which masquerade as love. She knows you very well. She knows you with devastating certainty.
I, on the other hand, have seen you in another dimension. I have seen your skin brushing against the moments they call no-man's time, the moments when you were an authentic version of your hidden self, the scars dipped in oblivion, fading against the barrage of fake hues which surround your reality. I have seen you in the imagination, in dreams, in another vision of yourself, where wisdom was shoved under the carpet and dirt disappeared like squalor on a rainy afternoon. I have seen you facing away from reality, your eyes brooding and searching with the fierce abandon of misplaced integrity and piercing candour. I have seen you swimming in the pools of adversity and reaching the shore of pleitude. I have seen your swollen thumbs against my searching veins, the lights dimmed between us, the sound of your throbbing heart eclispsing all conventional myths and meanings. I have seen your hues lined up against the shelf of painstaking discovery, whilst the mantelpiece glows with the sound of your name buzzing in different directions. I have noticed your eyes seeking, seeking, searching and alive with the sound of music. I have felt your pulse pounding with the life-long claim to fame, i have seen your smile surrendering itself ot the mountains and the beeze which fans the forests in those mountains. I have seen your genteelity soaked in rain, like an exquiste lie being sold in the greatest restaurant.
That's why she has more rights over your famished frame. She has more of an inclination to dispose herself along you, to seek the clarity of resonance which you wear as a mask along your daily routine. She has the right to cliam you in steps mounted with precision and prepared with timid gusto. She has the duty to hold you through stormy nights and the practicalities of day-to-day decisions. She has the time to nurture your budding death to life, and creep through your veins with flourish and fame.
I am the onlooker. She is the reality.
I am the muse. She is the lover.