Her bright red hair
and green eyes stood
out to me among the
cafe crowd.
Her fingers traced a
leather sketchbook sitting
on the table in front of her.
I instantly found myself
heading in her direction,
only to find out that words
left her mouth too often.
"May I help you?"
She raised her thick eyebrows.
"Actually, you can."
I smirked.
She rolled her eyes.
I noticed the freckles dancing
along her cheeks and nose.
I drew circles on her
coffee cup with my fingers.
"Would you like to hear a poem?"
Her eyes widened.
I didn't answer.
She opened the leather book,
flipping through the pages until
she was satisfied.
"From childhood's hour
I have not been
As others were—
I have not seen
As others saw—
I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—
I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov'd—
I lov'd alone—
Then—
in my childhood—
in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—
was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—
It's by Edgar Allen Poe, of course."
She looked at me, and I stumbled trying to get up.
"It's...long."
I didn't understand any of it,
nor did I want to.
Her sketchbook hit the floor
when I accidentally knocked
the table in my lame attempt
at a getaway.
The book had landed
open on a page of her art.
I stared at the image for too long.
A girl with bright, red hair
sat alone, surrounded by
darkness.
I slowly looked up from the
pages to gape at the redhead
in front of me.
"You feel alone too?"
Her facial expression changed.
I left.
