To love the girl with disheveled hair is to love the unfinished woman. It is perhaps unnatural, my feelings for her. Her poise so serene, a countenance of purity, innocence and truth that my words cannot find expression for. I have often reflected, and in my dreams she transcends my imagination becoming real. Each time I am free to finish what Leonardo left undone.
The true unrequited love that leaves me wanting more. Like Pygmalion I long for her approach. She is Disheveled and unfinished. Yes, she is everything I want for my self and everything more.
It is the very idea that she is unfinished, unrefined, and open to every possibility that draws me to her. Her comforting smile is enough to put my anxieties to peace and together we can build a whole new world that is our own.
The lonely misery of unsearchable things. That she would Metamorphoses and not return my love? Or that she would stay unchanged? A prophesy it is, my heart leaping from my very body upon the sound of her first breath only to fall at her feet. She steps over it as she walks by never looking back. If Cupid would be so cruel and so kind.
Even so, I would wait for that day. I do so with the hope of building that new world.