I peered over and there was no sign of her. I peered over and I saw a void. I don't know. What now? Panic gripped me. She was gone.
She passed me by.
It's difficult to imagine things will get better. My thoughts are encumbered with idyllic recollections of her, of what might've been, of encounters and nights that never will be.
She passed me by.
I still see, under heavy eyelids sometimes, the prelapsarian moment before her eyes met mine. I still remember that all beauty in the eons before that moment paled to a single instant. I was in the presence of beauty personified. But like all beauty left to the unsure hand of man, it became profane and routine. A dormant mind wanders much like a promiscious eye. And I let this beauty pass me by.
It's too late. It's too late to regret. It's too late to hope for redemption. Sometimes we're condemned without any further recourse. This is my condition now; condemned to be chained to impossible yearnings, condemned to see again and again those lumiscent blue eyes without the slightest hope of ever staring deeply into them.
She passed me by and I'm left in a void.
