She flips another page of a worn paperback, so engrossed in the words written on yellowed pages that she’s lost to the world around her. The corner of her mouth curls up every so often, and laughter shines in her eyes. A stray hair falls gently in front of her face, but she doesn’t notice as her brows draw together in what can only be surprise.
I can’t help wanting to make her smile as much as her books do, to feel her hair as I run my fingers through her wavy brown locks, pushing that one strand behind her ear. But I don’t want to be the one to break her out of her fantasy.
We sit in silence as the day winds to a close, and the light outside the window starts to cast its familiar shadows as the sun dips below the tops of the buildings outside. Hours have passed and she has yet to move, save for turning a page or a change in her expression. I can read her like the book in front of her, everything as clear as day in her expressive eyes and small facial cues. (more…)
A Feathered Letter 