Mannequin

A shadow in the headlight. A presence you barely know. But somehow his aura entices, invites, and strangles until you only have a blazing fire left. And you only have the two phrases, or looks, or imagination to fuel that fragile flame. But it is a flame nonetheless, and you keep it tucked inside the depths of your heart. So is the way of meaningless lust and far fetched fantasies that confiscate our being. Maybe it was his eyes, or his shoulders. Maybe it was the way he walked, or how he looked at you as if you were a somebody. 

So run. Run away from the shadow. Do not let the fire consume your entity, do not get burned before you even feel the warmth. Do not let the sparks confuse you. They are only lost bits of the fire, not awakened stars. 

And you, you are only the fleeting bluejay that once passed his path. 

A presence he never knew.