The Writers' Circle

There you stand, eyes twinkling in the sunshine, 
That reassuring smile lighting up your face,
Totally oblivious to what you do to me.
You're conversing eloquently as usual,
But I catch only a word or two,
The aroma of black coffee and fusty books 
Opening doors in my imagination.

I watch as the others pass with solemn faces,
Knowing that I see in you what they never can:
The heart of an explorer and the soul of a poet.
There's an endearing eccentricity about you,
From your quintessential dress
Right down to the simple crispness of your name,
Which sounds like a whisper in an empty library.

I know that to you my adoration is nothing more
Than the fantasy of a lonely schoolgirl. 
I know that I was born too late,
That you are too good for me and can never be mine.
You are my inspiration, my life's mentor.
I have learnt so much from you,
But can you teach me how to love again?