This isn't how I pictured you.

I saw girls on the water last night dancing like angels. Their bodies looked like ribbons and satin had been their parents. When they spun it spun the world, their leaps put gazelles to shame, and the pirouettes they presented were flawless.
I could have watched them all night, but when I moved closer to speak to them they fled. I begged them not to leave me, but to no avail. I shouted myself hoarse for hours, shocked at my loss. Finally, I gave up any hope of ever seeing them again. Weeping, I returned to the car, unaware of the dryads watching me.
Many times I returned to that place on the water, and sat motionless for hours on end. I never really saw them again, but every once in a while I hear their tinkling laughter or see them twirling in the corner of my eye.
Before one of my visits I bought three pairs of the most beautiful silken ballet shoes and put them in an ornate stained red box. When I entered the forest where the lake was located a sudden hush and calm fell over me. As my feet drew me closer to the water I closed my eyes and let the dancers draw me to them. My body stopped moving and I opened my eyes and gazed across the water.
Nothing. No one was there. I felt hot tears fill my eyes as I longed for them, the heat of my disappointment filled me and made my body heavy as my eyes. I knelt down upon the soft grassy bank and fell asleep. Visions of the beautiful dancers filled my mind, and asked me not to be saddened by their absence.
Hours it seemed later, I woke. The box was gone as well as my sweater. I looked around in awe, seeing the branches draped with the green mesh that made up their garbs. They had left me on the bank surrounded by their beauty, yet away from them. I was to never chance upon them again, but something told me I was welcome here in their wood.