Is something wrong with me?

Fictional. She is fictional.

But when I watch her,

I am absorbed. I cannot turn away.

When she laughs, my world lights up.

The sparkle of her eyes

Takes me on a forbidden journey.

She is not Renee,

Though without Renee,

She exists only as words on a page

And images in the minds of Californian gods.

She is Gabrielle.

She is fictional.

Can love exist for one who does not?

The screen glows

And strawberry hair falls

Across alabaster shoulders.

Switching channels is not an option.

And I think, this is love.

But she is fictional.

Fictional.

I am not normal.

But when she cries,

Every time she cries,

I feel,

No, I am sure

That I would do anything

To take her hurt away.

But she is fictional.

Her tears are sprayed on

Seconds before a director shouts

Action.

Mine contain real salt.

I am out of touch and obsessive.

She cries

And I cry.

It is why I watch alone.

Her tears take me

On a different kind of forbidden journey.

Forbidden only by the barrier

Between real and not real.

See, she is fictional.

I am not.

I am in need of professional help.

Then I see her cry again

And I cannot stop my own tears.

All will be well, sweet bard,

All will be well.

Fictional, schmictional.

I am in love.