Her heart of doom, her body, her mind is no longer. I see it in others. I see it in my boyfriend as the days go on. I've known the boy for two years almost, and now he seems less like what I saw him as. This is good, but maybe concerning. His eyes, once quietly somber and icy, much like hers, are now widening, looking more frightened, more like a deer in headlights.
I see her forbidden ways in the shadows of my mind. My mind is facing the wind, I am trying to find the meanings of everything in the world through dark, shady streets. I see her child-like innocence in the dark eyes of a man forty-one years old. This man is too innocent for the time. I see his eyes dance across the room, sparkling, shining, smiling the kindest smiles, laughing at the stupidest jokes just because. People like this man are just living in dreams of beauty and love. They sail away into things once possible, but cease to even be fathomed by anyone slightly logical.
Maybe I'm just nostalgic about things sure to never come back. Maybe I am insane, but I feel Nico, throwing her songs up in the air. I see her enigma that she left for those few worthy to solve. Maybe she wasn't even that enigmatic... maybe she just wanted to runaway and to everyone she met, tell them a different story. Her kind, well-meaning case of Pseudological fantastica left everyone that knew her and know of her in this constant state of wonder. Was that her goal? Did she purposely lie to make everyone always think about her? Was she that diabolically vain to come up with such a brilliant plan? Maybe, or maybe her past just ruined her.
Well if that was her goal, she succeeded. She is haunting me against her will. I see her in the boy I love. I see her in the man that is in the shadows of my mind. I see her in my mind. Or maybe I'm in an endless Carolian dream world, under a watchful eye, in a maze within a maze. Maybe this world is of the Queen of Hearts, or maybe I forgot what a dream was. Seeing that I've possibly forgot what a dream was, I find a dream, a fantasy. This fantasy is Nico. I am again the scientist with a theoretical microscope that is being abused and insulted by a fairylike subject that I can't help but bow to on the Sabbath. Nico is haunting me. Everywhere I turn, through sheer insanity or otherwise, I see her and her willow build. I see her flaxen hair. I see her eyes penetrating me and dissecting everything I do. The scientist is now the subject in my mind.
That's Nico crica 1956