and so he fell in love with a girl
who wrote about her thoughts from her
mind that never reached her lips
(the writer doesn't speak
she talks in hidden subscripts)

and he found himself reading
about himself and seeing
the feeling(s)
she summarized in a simple
"I think you're perfect"

and it was strange to see
parts of him on page twenty-three
like knowing a stranger had his smile
and wore his same style
and his words and his (cheesy) jokes
were muttered by a few fictional fo...

Bois epais redouble ton ombre,
Tu ne saurais etre assex sombre,
Tu ne peux trop cacher
Mon malheureux amour;
Je sens un desespoir
Dont l'horreur est extreme,
Je ne dois plus voir ce que j'aime,
Je ne veux plus souffrir le jour.

The shadow of a heron's wing is on the water,
And the pines have drawn slim fingers across the moon.
Hush, breathe lightly, wind in the plum tree,
Scatter your dreams like petals over her heart.