Just a Fan

Just a Fan

Who are you to haunt me so like some singing angel inside my ear pulling logic from me to taint my senses with a longing I can only succumb to and not fight. Like a dream so sweet you do not want to awaken from it only to feel it slip away when daylight pools in the corners of your eyes. I ache for eyes that are so blue they fell as surely from heavens skies as if I imagined them into being. His voice the timber of thunder rolling across the sky to lull me into the deep caress of the sound of him. I falter completely in my thinking like a child just learning to comprehend life. What is this delusion, illusion, madness that captivates me and drowns me in its spell? I am powerless to my own demise lost in the sound of notes and lyrics. The floating sonnet of this strangers sound yet as familiar to me as my own breathing. He draws me in, he touches my heart and breaks my soul into a million stranded scattered shards as again I fall powerless to the touch the warmth of his sound simply by singing his song. Is he some land siren with eyes so crystal blue he crawled from the vast sea to fell his heart in song upon my soul dredging from my inner most center my love. How dare he have such power over me when I have none of my own next to his song. He makes me weep, long, ache with tears so endless that if I thought I had just one last one to spare for his song I would somehow find in the breath of a moment new ones yet to spare for him. Dare I use the word love for him for how is it love when it is only me feeling it? I beg myself to forget him yet I am surrounded by him in thought in sound even in silence he is in my ear like he has crawled beneath my skin and become some unearthly intangible part of me. So I ache inside and allow some part of me to die a little at his song knowing I am nothing to him not even a face in the expanse of crowd he lives, in thrives in and maybe in some way dies in. How can you have a life not your own, give up all anonymity to be loved infinitely for the gesture of the stage and song. I pity him often wishing I did not know who he was so I can genuinely find him in some vacant street and just ask his name not his stage name but his real one his true identity to give him back a moment of just being him. Perhaps I presume more than I should to believe that he needs that nothingness for a moment to imagine that he is not complete in who he is. So who I ask is more damaged him and his world of lights and adoring fans or me who has nothing but his song. My heart that has so fully given some lonesome part of her heart to him lost just because of his song.