Haunt

My mind just keeps going back to you.
Your close cropped hair,
Your mismatched puke green sweaters,
The bar stools,
The loft.
My mind just keeps going back to you.
The getting of your water bottle,
That led you to cross my path that morning.
Such a simple thing I observed,
That scared and thrilled me at the same time.
Just observing you
That tightened my stomach into knots they said were butterflies?
Yet, I knew deep down this wasn't how it should be.
There should be an air ship,
And a type writer
And an artist in her room.
Writing what will later be printed,
Sold.
Not a girl on her feet in a room looking at a man
Who will always haunt her and never want her.