Forget-Me-Not

There she is. Red hair, obviously dyed to be the bright color it is now. The long wavy strands are spread around her head in a firey halo, and brighter still against the white of the pillowcase on which she rests. Slightly tanned skin is spread over small and narrow bones that could make and girl other than her envious of her dainty, yet elegant, frame. Dark eyelashes skim the edges of her cheekbones and her eyelids are closed, covering her perfect, soft, hazel eyes that hold a gaze so hauntingly beautiful that they always appear in my sleep. They watch me in their dangerous and unsure way during the day, begging for the slightest glimpse of a new situation besides the one they are chained to in this moment.

I watch her with curiosity, waiting to see if those lids will suddenly flutter open and that pair of eyes will find me here in the dark. Some nights I hope they do. Others, I hope they stay closed so that I can watch her peaceful, melodic breathing that almost matches my own. She can't be real. She's too perfect; if there ever were such a thing. Mother said there was never too much perfection, and that I should obtain it and keep it in my grasp. This I will keep. If I don't, it might just be the end of me. And I do not yet hope to meet my end.