He once called me an enigma wrapped in a mystery sprinkled with confusion.
And I quite liked the sound of that.
A beautiful girl
Much more Elegant than I
Ever seemed to be
when looking at my own face in the glass.
With long dark hair wrapped in furs of our own
bewilderment at our lack of understanding her.
As soft drops of muddlement fell.
But as He grew closer
I didn’t want to be an enigma, or a shadow, or any other dark glamorous creature.
Because how could you be safe is someone didn’t know me?
To Him, I am now a simple girl.
Or so I think, because his brain is not mine, and I never truly know.
And He enjoys watching myself transform into an enigma for all the others.
But to Him I am no longer a shadow
but a soft light
that he can fall asleep next to
and not worry if I will be gone before He wakes up.