From one girl to ... any girl who will listen.

Dark.

his eyes. his hair. his clothes.

his intentions.

No one else can see him. he is holding out his hand.

For every girl, he looks different. he comes from any place; can go anywhere. Maybe it's his smile. Maybe it's his eyes.

he is holding out his hand.

he is offering you the world. And it hurts.

It's so hard to look away.

he is standing in a blue doorway, the doorway to time. he is standing at the edge of a puddle, a portal into another world. he's standing just inside the frame of a comic book or novel, etched in blacks and grays.

And he is holding out his hand.

But don't take it.

Don't step inside his world.

he will draw you in. And while you're still blinded by the light, still deafened by the rush, he'll swaddle you in a haze that you may never return from.

he is holding out his hand and it seems beautiful. Take it and you will think that you are happy.

But when the dreamy haze is pierced and pain shatters the illusion, he is gone.

he will not be there to catch you. he will not save you from your fears.

Reality crashes inward and you realize what all you have missed; everything that has passed you by.

he is gone.

he looks so many ways when he is holding out his hand.

But know him by this:

he has no flesh. he has no blood. he never touches. he pretends to bleed but never dies.

he has no heart. he does not love you.

he has no life to offer you. he can only steal yours.

he is holding out his hand.

Girl, don't ever take that hand.