A stream of consciousness by Vance Tran
I glance and there she is.
Amongst the deteriorating buildings
and litter riddled lawn, she stands out.
She is not like the others, I can sense it.
Her spirit is good and pure, fiery and true.
Her beauty is unique, with subtle strands
of hair framing her face, hiding her demure smile.
The sunlight surrounds and protects her from the rabble.
But, I am foolish to feel this way.
She cannot possibly begin to look at me
and feel the way I feel about her.
I am just me, not deserving, invisible.
Besides, I have done this many a time,
elevating mere strangers to saints in my mind.
She is not special in any way, I conclude.
So, I quickly look away and tell myself not to feel.
With a sigh, I walk away, and try to shrug off the grief. -