slender

You half-expected
her to run.

It is midnight,
after all:
the clanging of the bell,
the prophecy of the tale,
could have turned
jeepneys she ride
into pumpkins.
Her entourage
into a zoo.

She is an Unexpected,
you’ve accepted that.
You’ve come to terms
with her not being one
of your delusions, not
another faerie trick,
the moment she stuck
around past sanctioned time
of having to be
together.

But she makes you
want to believe in
a little magic.
You kind of hoped
for the witching hour
to affect her somehow,
to leave you a glass
slipper that sets you
on her trail,
on a quest to find her
outside sanctioned places
to meet in,
to try, try, try,
to win her,
somehow.




Then you discover
it is you
being undone.
Your shields
dissolve like
leaves in the wind.
Your worlds
disperse like
sand emigrating.
Losing yourself to days
molding into morrows.

Still she makes you
yearn to believe:
that there’s a glass
apparel to leave
in your wake,
a trail for her to take.
And you try, try, try,
to hold on
to that slender hope,
that impossible slope,
that somehow,
somehow,
she likes you, too.



2015.mar.18