All the creativity

Oh all the creativity that love initiates! Oh the songs, the poems, the books that have been made in its name. Suddenly, it seems the sky is only the limit.

-Shy-

Her eyes meet mine

            just a second

            and she turns her head quickly                                  

            a half smile on her lips

Did she really look at me

            or was I mistaken?

She goes her way

            and glances in my direction

            but was it really in my direction?

As there is no one else around

            I am left wondering

She is gone now

            will she be back?

She leaves me

               troubled

               happy

               miserable    

               hopeful

When will I get an answer?

 

Red was feeling romantic. It was a strange feeling, a bit disconcerting. Why was she doing that to him? He was not used to write poems in the middle of the day, to let his mind wander, to forget what he was saying. Sometimes he had to remember he had a job to do, deadlines to meet, meetings to attend. He would have gladly bathed in the memory of her smile, the promise of her eyes, the hope of her words. She had surely put a spell on him, but he had no idea what her intentions were, and that was both exciting and disturbing.

He took his pen again, and against all good sense, scribbled some more verses. At least he was feeling creative, and he liked the sensation. He did not know how long he could keep going that way anyhow. He thought he had lost weight, he could not eat normally when she was around, and that was very strange. He liked and disliked the effect she had on him, but there was not that much he could do, and not that much he wanted to do.

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