the po~et 15 (eulalie--maybe?)

Like Poe he writes of an unknown woman and Jack has convinced herself that he is speaking of her. Sometimes she fits the description, other times she is unsure--leaving her feeling unworthy of such devotion. Too afraid to speak to him she changed the order of her day. It was foolish to her how she had memorized where he stood and where his feet treaded. The orchestrated path he took, his daily routine, even the deepness of his voice. All memorized, for the opportunity to see him as he passed. She was sure he had figured her scheme out by now, but she was not aware that he enjoyed the unexpected encounters. She thought she would have to draw back not to appear to be in need of mental intervention. It was becoming increasingly clear that she could and would not have him. His scholarly repuataion was all he had and she was sure he would not succumb to such deviant behavior--even if he possibly did find her attractive.

Rules--the road sometimes isn't a straight line. Nothing is as clear as it was the day before. The guide is asleep and the map is outdated. Death creeps in along the way robbing of the pleasures meant to be celebrated in the cool of the day. Mourning doesn't get any easier. What's lost can't be replaced and if it could--would it be new?

She promises herself to wait until rules were no longer an obstacle they would have to overcome.