The rain trickles lightly down your umbrella
Your steps in perfect sync with the beats of my heart
Ah what a scene
Your perfect figure against this dismal landscape
Grey concrete pillars and abandoned stores
The depression of recession still apparent
Yet you illuminate it all
The subtle lengths of your fingers
Running eloquently along the ridges of your hand
Oh the hand, the hand I long to hold
To grasp in mine own, to feel your warmth
To smell your sweet fragrance once again
'Tis the sweetest bliss to behold your visage
My dearest beloved.
Alas, I am but an observer
Waiting until time permits I find you unawares
Allowing me to steal a touch
Or a breath
For now I am content
To watch from afar;
To behold from a distance
The faultless muse for my imaginings.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (2 so far!)
Average reader rating 4.00/5
This was borderlining adorable for a stalker but that's probably because I've seen too many of them. I really liked this.
- #1965 Posted 6 years ago
- 4 out of 5
- Published 8 years ago.
- Story viewed 16 times and rated 1 times.
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The environment you've described in the scene intrigued me the most. I was captivated by the description of the pillars and shops within a historical context. It gave those gray slabs of concrete a story of their own.
The title of stalker and the tag of "ominous" felt too strong and straightforward for the more subtle creepiness of the narrator.
I really like the last line.