lucy running across the court
Lucy, not her real name, sat two tables away at the cafe. I wonder whether she noticed me at all. It's the third time we're at the cafe together. I use that word, 'together', loosely. Maybe she didn't notice the other two times either. Was she here all the time? Or can this be interpreted as fate?
She was with someone. A friend or something more? Perhaps just an acquaintance who's really good at making her laugh. I'm tempted to remove my headphones, just to hear what she sounds like, laughing. We've been in the same class for 8 weeks now, and I have never heard her voice. Who is he, and how did he get that privilege?
What does it matter? I only fall in love with her every time she stepped into that classroom on the 4th floor, 3 minutes late. In my mind, her colorful coats hid the profound loneliness that only I could see in her eyes. She wore 3 rings, one for each boy who broke her heart; in my mind, she hopes to collect that all important one on the 4th finger of her left hand before the other fingers are full.
I look up again and steal another glance. She's playing with her coffee cup. I play with mine, popping the lid off. The seam of the cup is stained yellow, much like how I imagined her fingers with be from smoking one too many cigarettes. She only smoked for the lack of something to do, so that she would refrain from picking at the scabs of her emotional wounds. I've never actually seen her smoke.
She's putting on her coat to leave. She's in my favorite one, the red. Running her fingers under her wavy hair to move the ends out from under her coat, she says her good byes. She's smiling. I look down at my notes before she notices me staring.
When I look up again she was gone. Out the corner of my eye, I see her, half-running across the courtyard. I wonder where she was running to. Perhaps she was running away. Perhaps she was just running. I will never ask.
this whole exercise turned creepy. suffice to say the above doesn't come anywhere close to my actual thoughts. i admit, however, that lucy is based on a real person, and up until not very long ago, i didn't know her real name.
She was with someone. A friend or something more? Perhaps just an acquaintance who's really good at making her laugh. I'm tempted to remove my headphones, just to hear what she sounds like, laughing. We've been in the same class for 8 weeks now, and I have never heard her voice. Who is he, and how did he get that privilege?
What does it matter? I only fall in love with her every time she stepped into that classroom on the 4th floor, 3 minutes late. In my mind, her colorful coats hid the profound loneliness that only I could see in her eyes. She wore 3 rings, one for each boy who broke her heart; in my mind, she hopes to collect that all important one on the 4th finger of her left hand before the other fingers are full.
I look up again and steal another glance. She's playing with her coffee cup. I play with mine, popping the lid off. The seam of the cup is stained yellow, much like how I imagined her fingers with be from smoking one too many cigarettes. She only smoked for the lack of something to do, so that she would refrain from picking at the scabs of her emotional wounds. I've never actually seen her smoke.
She's putting on her coat to leave. She's in my favorite one, the red. Running her fingers under her wavy hair to move the ends out from under her coat, she says her good byes. She's smiling. I look down at my notes before she notices me staring.
When I look up again she was gone. Out the corner of my eye, I see her, half-running across the courtyard. I wonder where she was running to. Perhaps she was running away. Perhaps she was just running. I will never ask.
this whole exercise turned creepy. suffice to say the above doesn't come anywhere close to my actual thoughts. i admit, however, that lucy is based on a real person, and up until not very long ago, i didn't know her real name.
posted by keong at 12:33 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home