Pale Doll.

Pale doll, it an honour to be shown around your lovely little house, full of the prettiest little surprises. Your hair a soft golden crown, a flurry as you run, leading me in a fast frenzy, your hand in mine, pull me along, through the narrow halls, lit with white candles, glowing windows lined with lights on strings, I’m careful not to step on the trail of flowers that fall from your pockets. Pale doll, you look back to me, your eyes I’ve studied in every light, and now they are ignited, blue and green, you pull me to a room that glows a soft cream…that melts into the colour of your skin, the lines blur together. Pale doll, you stand there so sweetly, I don’t want this to end. So I run my hand along the edge of your dresser as I imagine you have, flowers in bottles, tiny dancers twirling inside music boxes, a rosary dripping off the edge of a mirror. The most beautiful of things you also couldn’t help but notice, I know, you see it too.

Pale doll, why do I love you?

For in your stare, under the pain when you look out the windows, what are you going to to say?

Its more than whats beneath the lace of silk of the clothes that cling to your skin,

It’s sweeter than how we feel wrapped in the whitest linen, awakened by the songs in the morning.

Pale doll, I do wish you were real.