Fangirl: a sonnet of experience.

I think about you walking in the rain.

I wonder why you didn’t call a cab.

That photogenic grin – it’s just a smirk,

Blue eyes that lost their lustre.

Gun-grey hair.

You’re distant, weak, uncomfortable. Detached.

You hope that no one sees you walking back

To what you call home here –

A hotel room, a sprawling, dirty bed.

I wonder why nobody’s noticed you,

I thought that you were more well known than this.

Should I, a fan, cross over and shake hands –

Or should I walk on by?

I think about you. Walking in the rain.