Pale

I was out today, in one of the biggest crowds I've been in since before Covid. And I noticed something.

There were a thousand and one women with long dark hair that was almost as lovely as yours.

A thousand and one whose shape was nearly as compelling as yours.

Two thousand and two eyes, that I could dive into almost as deeply as yours.

A handful without any ring upon their finger.

But, not a single one burned as brightly as you do. Mere candles next to your thousand and one suns.

You are the prototype, the model upon which beauty is based. The apex, the pinnacle.

Perfect.

And you're you.

Some other women may approach, but never reach, your beauty, but none could ever be you.

I can't love you.

But I don't know how to not love you.

You've penetrated my heart, my very soul. So that my entire being longs for you, the desire consuming me night and day.

I can't love you.

I can't not love you.

So, what is to be done with me?