The Fade Away Girl

He loves me, he loves me not How vain to imagine I’d cherish a photo of him He loves me, he loves me not Not as much as he loves a corkscrew, a vin ordinaire He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me Enough to give me a mystery. All women love a mystery A box, a Pandora enticement. How well he presumes to know me! How cynical! How very fin de siècle! He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me But how unsubtle, the gift of a purse, There is no finesse in money, I am not a whore He loves me, he loves me, he loves me And I have the fan to prove it! For cooling, for flirting. dismissing, inviting To snap, to flutter to hide the blush or the pout Ah, but is the passion reciprocated? Last, what a curious gift, my final suitor… The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis I have given it close attention It advises contempt for the vanities of the world It counsels withdrawal of the outward life It exhorts me to renounce all that’s vain and illusory It stresses the inner benefits of solitude and silence It asks me to be grateful for 'every little gift' So I may be worthy to receive much greater ones, To consider the least gift as great The most common as something special. And finally, to sit as a solitary sparrow on a housetop In the bitterness of my soul, meditating upon my transgressions. He loves me not.