Magician
I thought you were the phoenix the shaman, the almost god.
But that's what I was supposed to think, wasn't it? All too human you are.
But, you do have a kind of magic.
I met you and knew I was going to feel...something. Powerful.
And you sensed it too.
What I didn't know was that it isn't me you wanted or were falling for.
It's the audience, the adoration, the attention. You feed off of it.
So you create your illusions for an already willing audience.
I set up barriers, flimsy ones. Which you knocked down.
I suppose I wanted you to. But that's part of it.
Once you have what you want, once it's easy, you don't want it anymore.
I suppose most of us are like that.
And you haven't really shared anything with me but the show.
To this day I don't know what you feel about me, except maybe ambivalent.
What's weird is I know so many of your flaws and incompatabilities and I still want you, still think about you.
Even though I know I shouldn't.
I can't seem to help it.
And you said so many things, with a passion that caught my heart.
"you're at the forefront of my mind, most days"
"I heard this song on the radio and it made me think of you"
the look in your eyes when you wanted to jump at me from across the yard when I was leaving, but couldn't because we had an audience.
All because in that moment, for a second, I was denying and defying you, and us, fighting it and ready to fight you.
Such fire. I wanted it. I want it.
But for the most part, it's gone. Unless I find a way to provoke you again.
None of this should have been in or still on my mind.
But it still is. One day I might just be able to let it go.
Until then, you are both the fire that burns and the wind that feeds the flame of all the things that are left in my soul for you.
They turn to ash and return to be burned again.
But that's what I was supposed to think, wasn't it? All too human you are.
But, you do have a kind of magic.
I met you and knew I was going to feel...something. Powerful.
And you sensed it too.
What I didn't know was that it isn't me you wanted or were falling for.
It's the audience, the adoration, the attention. You feed off of it.
So you create your illusions for an already willing audience.
I set up barriers, flimsy ones. Which you knocked down.
I suppose I wanted you to. But that's part of it.
Once you have what you want, once it's easy, you don't want it anymore.
I suppose most of us are like that.
And you haven't really shared anything with me but the show.
To this day I don't know what you feel about me, except maybe ambivalent.
What's weird is I know so many of your flaws and incompatabilities and I still want you, still think about you.
Even though I know I shouldn't.
I can't seem to help it.
And you said so many things, with a passion that caught my heart.
"you're at the forefront of my mind, most days"
"I heard this song on the radio and it made me think of you"
the look in your eyes when you wanted to jump at me from across the yard when I was leaving, but couldn't because we had an audience.
All because in that moment, for a second, I was denying and defying you, and us, fighting it and ready to fight you.
Such fire. I wanted it. I want it.
But for the most part, it's gone. Unless I find a way to provoke you again.
None of this should have been in or still on my mind.
But it still is. One day I might just be able to let it go.
Until then, you are both the fire that burns and the wind that feeds the flame of all the things that are left in my soul for you.
They turn to ash and return to be burned again.