Good Morning Mystery Woman,
Tis, I. The man who writes to your silent voice. The man who loves your bee-stung upper lip, your tousled hair, your enigmatic gaze. Yes, once again, I venture forth into the land of real and illusion, probing for life from the digital darkness. Wondering how long it will take to discover the truth behind your words and your image.
Yes! Tis I! The man who himself lives in a world of real and illusion. Each day choosing a path that leads him towards you or away from you.
Yes! Tis I! The man who fosters the faith and resolve to believe in your existence. Not only for himself, but for others around the world who strive like he does to discover diamonds in stone, gold in mud, silver in the clouds, pearls in the sea, flowers in weeds…
END OF THIS CONCEPT. PLEASE MOVE TO NEXT PROSE BLOCK.>>
YES! YES! TIS I!
I, who waits. I, who wonders. What will happen to me? Will I survive the emotional turbulence that has yet to visit my heart when I realize you are not who you present. You are not the engagingly attractive visage with the eyes that look beyond those who stand before you. You are someone else…something else.
My time runs as the sand flows down the hourglass. I can not linger in your world much longer, lest I turn to dust and waste away.
I fire one last flare hoping you will see.
To come out from the bush and say hello to me.