A turn

I saw a romantic who was not me,
She was dreaming pink dreams,
Which were the color of my dreams too,
 
She longed for connection,
She wanted to do things that always sound good,
Like dancing in the rain,
Like prancing in Paris,
Like a midnight candle,
And an afternoon cigarette,
Things which are empty,
Things which are hollow,
But nice
 
She was my muse,
The angel of my dreams,
The light of my life,
The proverbial soulmate,
I knocked on her door,
Three knocks for three words,
And went away…