(Part One - Her Point of View)

I can feel his eyes on me,
He follows my every step, watches my every move,
From the subtle swing of my hips to my gaze,
It's almost as if he knows who I am and so he chases after.

I see the flash of his camera from the corner of my eye,
Trying to ignore him, I take in the life of the villa
and allow a faint smile to curve my lips.
I let my legs carry me through the unending mazes of streets,
He continues to follow me; he is no paparazzi, this baby-faced angel of a man.

Ah! But who is he? This Greek god
with orbs of forest green, forever following with his gaze?
I attempt to escape him and sprint for the plaza,
His laughter rings true, above the bustle of the villa
as he follows effortlessly once again.

I pause, out of breath,
My eyes meet his, filled with mysteries,
His eyes cause me to feel entranced with their power,
But why has he not even dared to glance at the beauty across the street?
Oh, sweet angel, why do you see naught be me before you?
Perhaps mystery did always cause hearts to race
and this is but a dream.