I remember meeting her, in thew purple glow of her cubical by the window. She was wearing crystals around her neck and black glittered polish on her nails. i dont remember all of what she told me, but I do remember everything she said about you.
She told me that I would meet you early September-maybe late August. She told me your freckles would look like sand. She said your hair would feel like angel wings. She told me you'd love cats, and fleece. She told me you'd make a great best friend, and a better boyfriend. She told me, in her witchy wisdom, all i had to do was meet you- and that the loving you, the courting you, and the relationship would unravel in front of me.
I pray to my goddess, and i light my candles, and i hope to the earth and the skies that she's right.
But till then- as summer tip-toes into my painted landscape; i wonder with ever brush stroke if your fates will fit into the image. I wonder, if your god see's us like my goddess does. I wonder if you've dreamed a portrait of me- because i have of you.
I pray to my goddess, and i light my candles, and i hope to the earth and the skies that when i find you, you'll thank your god, that you found me. That this time, the fate the gypsy told me, is the same fate, some gypsy somewhere sees for you.