A message to all members of VFD
Allure is a strange thing,
Found often in unexpected places.
Like libraries, perhaps,
Or in librarians themselves.
It can be serendipitous
Or it can require some digging below the surface
Before it reveals itself to the beholder.
Nevertheless, the allure of some
Is blatant, bold, and bewitching,
Or enigmatic,
And when it is seen
It simply cannot be ignored.
Such is the beauty and allure
Of a certain colleague of mine.
Her manner is calm, her attitude modest
Yet the way she smiles is intoxicating—
The way her scarlet upper lip curls ever so slightly,
The vivacious glint I see in her eyes—
It is enough to ensnare anyone she encounters.
And it is for this reason
That I write to you today:
It has come to my attention
That I have an issue of extreme importance
Surrounding this particular colleague—
I love her.
I do. I love her.
I love her for all her virtues—
Her unceasing empathy,
The enduring passion she puts into everything she does,
I love that she is intelligent—
Far more so than I could ever be—
And her wit.
I love her for all her talents—
I love the fact that she can order her favourite drink in 13 languages;
I love the way she makes fettuccine alfredo;
I love that she can tie a knot with a cherry stem using only her tongue.
I love her for all her imperfections.
I love how she has a dimple on her right cheek
But not on her left.
I love it when she snorts when she laughs,
Even though she claims it's not lady-like.
And when she dances in the kitchen
When there's no music playing,
I love her even more.
I love her.
That's my problem.
Because this woman,
With her unfathomable beauty,
Has given her nuptial promise to a most fortunate man
Who is perfectly suited for her—
He is clever, well-read, charming, a great friend—
In fact, he is my best friend.
And so through this poem
I announce to my associates
The reason for my disappearance,
Seeing as I will most likely be long gone by the time you read this.
I encourage you to not think any differently of me.
You may say that I'm running away from my problem—
Which is true.
But my biggest problem is that I am weak.
I can't stand to keep my emotions in a bottle with a cork.
But to let them out would be dangerous.
Emotions have a tendency to hurt, to destroy.
Sometimes in life we must put the happiness of others
Before our own preferences.
And with my typewriter and wool coat as my companions,
I retreat into the city, the fog shrouding me in secrecy.
Maybe we will meet again.
Maybe we won't.
The future is uncertain,
Just as it was meant to be.
The world is quiet here.