She was a dream within a dream, remembering the days that so quickly
passed her by;
Never once asking why, never caring for the reason; she floated in the breeze; waiting.
The heart's of men stopped at the picture of her loveliness; too beautiful to be possessed;
Her destiny awaited the choice of her desires; any man willing to do her bidding; but she waited.
So much power accompanied by fear of misuse, of missed opportunities; of lost chances;
She feared of being with lesser men of lesser substance; of lesser stature; of lesser, uneven appearance; so, she waited.
A mysterious, lurking demon watched this play; this dance and wanting himself to play, he snuck in the shadows,
Casting spell over her self absorption, exacerbating her self indulgence, as time blew briskly by, while she waited.
In years to come, young suitors became older, less attentive gentlemen and fewer in number; as she watched.
She could see from the reflection of her bedroom window, her fading youth; yet still undecided, she waited.
Her memories are now in an album, containing dried flowers and hair ribbons, wrapped in hollow hopes, pressed together.
The men of her past found hope elsewhere and after which, the demon departed too; she still stares outside; waiting.