With a sidelong glance, one can

see the color of her hair,

the sharpness of her gaze, but

not the complete lack

of joy written

on her lips and teeth. Upon

closer examination, one will

grasp the utter lonely-

ness of her absent

minded self-

obsessed vantage point which

she cares more about than

the serenity

of dancing with

another. From a distance, one

might hopefully never

latch on to the solid sound of

her black boots,

ungratefully accepted for the

purpose of marching away from all

that is good

and just and right

and true, never

moving toward another,

but always away.

Now stop.

Think.

 

“Who?”