She flitted away into the thin air, leaving
Traces of her ice-white flames
Where a quite quaint kiosk stood quietly
She gave me a smile as she said, “Come and follow me.”
The closest simile I can think of to describe her intonation,
Consists of: like she knew of something I didn’t know of.
When she shone, again, at the nexus
Like she said she would, she then left.
Leaving me, right here, with no way
To reach the next space, I
Frantically sought after her sanctity,
But I can’t seem to remember,
Where or when it was, when I asked
Myself; Isn’t it enough that I saw her,
That I found her again and again,
To prove to my brethren of my not insanity?
When I knew that it wasn’t.
Because the last time I’d nearly
Convinced them mystical beings existed.