A Vignette of a Moment: Prose

She walks on by, with a purposeful gait in a white semi- formal dress reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn, with Converse sneakers for comfort because her ankles hurt. The balloons trail behind like a leg- less walking companion, casting a shadow. Wordlessly she walks by and no one takes notice of her face. It is a broken face- a face wholly shattered and unremembered.

The eyes that perceive her don’t really see her at all. No second looks, just elevator eyes, and eyes of contempt. ‘Why does she have balloons at midnight?’ She walks on by- aware of every gaze, smiling.

Look closely at her smile- what do you see? The lips are cracked, and what would be the dimples is merely stress fractures. Yet she’s the pretty girl in the white dress. Countless, silent, public, unwanted tears have tread that face, and not one person has comforted her. Not. One.

The glance in the mirror is painful, the beauty that comes at great cost- and the wait. The wait- it defines her, it molds her, it breaks her. The weight- it keeps her feet on the ground, and she cannot fly. The white fabric of her dress floats in the wind, but is weighed down by her weight. The flight is delayed by the wait.

Who is this girl- this girl who cannot fly? This broken face, this unheard sigh?

Don’t you know? It is I.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s