Longing

The mermaid turned around, surprised. “You’re not drowning,” I heard through the water.

“I’m not of this world,” I explained. “Rules apply not.”

“How I wish to be you,” she sighed, and slowly approached. Her lips grazed my neck. “This too is destiny.”

Created anew by the sculptor, made perfect by the lust and longing of Pygmalion, granted life in the imagination of the one that beholds you and owns you.

I know not your face, yet I know of the wish that were were face to face I may never come to see as it is. The veil of distance, the bird in soaring flight, was the messenger of your heart. A stranger, one never meant to grace the other's home, is the prize of possibility.