Bella

She turns and she watches intently as I come for her down the stone aisle, and I think back to the early years when she and I were only acquaintances. Would she have displayed even an iota of interest, or would I only have been another client? I approach and she sweeps her head forth again with a loose visage, comfortable in my vicinity. Would she have asserted contempt, before? Would her eyes have flashed with disdain, her hair tossed in hauteur?

Her neutrality seems so foreign, and all the same, it feels like home.

© Lion, 2012