I was alive before those four days.
I had a life.
I saw red windmills in my dreams,
Turning musical notes existential.
From an early age,
Weirdoes were always attracted to me.
Maybe it was my eyes,
The way I moved,
The breasts which appeared later.
I could feel them,
Like you feel sunshine
On the back of your neck.
Only this feel wasn't a good feel.
It was truly unsettling how well he knew me.
Most people ignore their instincts.
I wish I could do the same.
I wish, I wish, I wish...
He seemed to be one step ahead of me
All the time;
Even after ten days without sleep.
I know he stole my mail.
First encounter was at the diner.
He always wanted me to serve him.
A monster moth pursuing my light.
The other waitresses liked him.
Flirted.
Why wouldn't they?
This is what a monster looks like:
He was substantial, over six feet tall
With dark-brown hair, and dreamy eyes.
His smile reassured on one level,
But just below; not too far at all -
It creeped-me-out-uneasy.
He had something,
Something that made a girl
Look towards him
When he would step into a diner.
But all I ever saw was ugly.
'Like a snowball down a mountain,
Or a carnival balloon
Like a carousel that's turning
Running rings around the moon'
~Bergman, Legrand
