Clueless

Clueless

Clueless as hell is she.

He should have stood back, but instead he fell

and he's still falling, the rush of wind 

hitting hard against his face

he's falling head first, into a common place

and the worst of it all, he has no control over the pace

He's constantly creating literature in her name

only his soft bound journal and his ink pen really know of her fame

he's never admired anyone the same

He wrote each day with just one aim

to gift her this little diary one day, anonymously,
covered with her name

He wrote like every day was his last

he wrote of how he wishes she was his future,

even though they didn't have a past

And all the while he wrote of her
She had no clue, he was sure.
This writer died a sudden death
young and wity, he was called up to Heaven city
His old journal was found,
and the word went around
of a woman who's praises he wrote about
but who she was, they never figured out.
Now his book stands proud on shelves everywhere
in bold letters on the cover 'The Woman With Brown Hair".
She picked up his book while browsing the shelves one day
and the day she read the last page, she closed the book,
hugged it to a chest, shut her eyes and let the brimming tears fall astray.
And said 'I wish someone would write about me this way'
Clueless.
Clueless she stayed