The Fallen Angel

 I romanticize my life 

through the eyes of my stalker 

My mundane nightly routine 

becomes an intricate symphony

for him

My perfume 

become someone else’s drug

I go from being an ordinary girl

brushing her hair in the mirror

To an intoxicating lure

Inescapable and unable to resist me

The illusion that I am alone in a city of millions 

turns into living in a bubble

His bubble

I am never alone.

In some odd way I’m living for him

without even knowing it

An invisible safety net

a silent support

I romanticize my life 

for him

Even if he does not exist.