Kind of a prose poem thingy I found:
I dreamed that I wrote a poem for her. I wrote about her flaxen hair, her eyes that she thought were green but were really the gray of faded denim. Her slender limbs that looked like they had been cut from paper at harsh angles. Her teeth that she never revealed when she smiled. She is the symbol of something I have kept close to my heart for the longest time, and I don’t understand. I don’t love her as one would care for a lover or a friend. She should mean nothing to me, but I can’t forget her.
June 29, 2014