N,
I don't know you. I've never even heard your voice. But something about the way you look at me through the camera, face just turned away, eyes distrustful, arms folded and shoulders defensively hunched, makes me wonder if hearing you speak would be my undoing.
Normally, I could write it off as further manifestation for my love of and infatuation with red-headed girls, especially those who wear such beauty in braids, but there is something more going on. More than your auburn locks and your full lips and your fair skin. It's those world-wary eyes that make me stop in my tracks and consider what kind of bitter tears you must have shed before you finely honed your defenses.
You probably wouldn't like me. You probably would despise my faith or my politics or my taste in music. You would no doubt find me shallow or simple or entirely too boring to be worth your thought. That's okay, I don't take it personally. Some people of certain temperaments just don't mix well with others.
But still there's something that causes me to linger over your snapshot for a moment more, fascinated by some elusive quality in your eyes that makes me wish I could know you better for the simple benefit of learning what it is that captures me so.
Anyway, here's to you, miss. God grant you peace.
--d.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment