My Missing Little Dancer

She is missing.

Lost to me,

A ghost in my mirror from a realm where I cannot walk.

A specter of hopeful re-emergence.

I do wish, with every molecule of my ghastly soul, that she will reappear and let flutter a single kiss, which one day again, I can miss. 

She has gone to a place where I cannot search, yet here I sit, perched on a ledge, waiting for her to once again show her pretty little head. 

But my heart is held down by a worried piece of lead. I sink or fall to the pit of sorrow and fear for I cannot view the war she wages nor support her struggle, as the gates of no return are reversed so I cannot pass to help assist my favourite lass. 

I wish I could trick the gates to let me pass through but messages struggle and wriggle to slyly sneak past the peak of the securities reaking guards of the gate, that in turn fills me with an insurmountable level of hate that only her soothing soul can cure.

The End

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