The Fade Away Girl Poem by Sheena Blackhall

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.