She asks ‘why me?’
Then she suggests that I have a secret, sacred gift of words that weave a silken, seductive, silver web.
I explain it is but a trick of cheap smoke and music hall mirrors, a clever refraction of an entirely ordinary light.
Yet she points out that those that follow are seemingly compelled by the rise and fall, the cadence and cascade, the promise, the pleasure, and the pain.
I shrug. I cannot answer.
I am always at a loss to understand why my flame attracts beauty when I think the candle from which it burns is so unexceptional. The mystery is greater to me than anyone.
Yet she persists. ‘But of them all, what makes me so special? What makes me worthy?’
I look into her wide, eloquent, achingly lovely, almost innocent eyes.
‘Because, my sweet, darling girl,..’ I pause, trying to find the words that perfectly capture the rare, wonderful and exotic creature she is.
‘Only because you are you.’
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Fletcher Sibthorp
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