She loves him unremarkably.
Like so many before
And simultaneously, not at all.
She will draw patterns on his skin at twilight
These lines have been made before
But not on him, and not by her.
She kisses him in secret before dawn
Other lips have made these shapes
But not hers, not with his.
Her craving for him is mundane.
Billions have felt this way.
She will tell you why she chases him:
“I know that everyone, anyone
Could have this feeling.
But he and I are not just anyone.”