I wait in the garden.
The strong smell of white gardenias,
the dark cyan blue skies nearing midnight,
a twinkle of silvery gray glitter splashed across the sky--they call them stars, I think.
I crouch below a bush of black leaves--the gardenias contrasting in the bleak of the frozen night.
my doll shoes sink ever so slightly in the dewy ground.
I control my breathing while I wait.
But I spot something.
A glistening.
I stand up and walk towards the little house above the water.
Somehow I knew you'd be there.
I cautiously step on the wooden bridge below me, spotting your silhouette in the deck-house.
The silvery water ripples, the cyan sky growing darker,
turning to a shade of indigo,
the silver glitter above multiplies, and lights up the sky like fireflies.
Ah, and how the moon shone--
When I stepped on to that little house and greeted you with a shy smile,
I saw the reflection of that lunar light glisten in your pale, beautiful eyes.
I realized so thuroughly after that moment how handsome you really were.
Your fair hair and light complexion seemed to glow like the gardenias on the bush full of blue-black leaves.
I knew that when you smiled, it was genuine.
You reached out and took my hand like a gentleman.
You kissed it softly, you smiled again.
And all of that sweetness still left a rotted hole of doubt and indifference, because I am wicked.
Is your sweetness deserved by someone like me?
Most likely no.
and I knew this as I smiled back.
I curtsied in my pale, lacy dress, it hung low and resembled the gardenias, though I could never be as elegant.
You didn't seem to mind how unpleasant and over dressed I was.
You took me in your arms anyways...
We looked out from the little house and admired the inky lake waters, it's reflective waves show silver in the light of the moon, just like your eyes....
You were sweet.
You remained sweet.
You asked nothing terrible of me.
You just held me and smiled gently.
I never understood,
and I probably never will,
because I have been tricked so many times that I can never grasp what true love is.
and here I wonder if your heart has a hole, too, or are you perfectly pure--have you seen no malice in your day?
What a kind of boy you are.
Pale and glowing like the gardenias,
eyes with reflective lakes within their irises.
Your heart--whole and kind.
I want to kiss you, but I am afraid my lips would taint yours with the black of a frozen night,
and I couldn't bear to do that to you.
