she was sad and lonely

to think she'd ever need to lie

to think she'd ever need to run

play a sad song on the radio;

she'd have danced,

carefree,

oblivious.

her rose cheeked smile

illustrated perfection—

an indebted perfection,

indebted a thousand times

to me, for watching, to testify

that the movement behind her

every

charming

step

was effortless,

that the purity of her

flawless

raw

philosophy

was untainted.

and elaine danced to the radio

and elaine walked on the edge

and elaine saw beauty where there was none

finding beauty in obscurity

securing hope

for herself

and me.

elaine

who I want to be.