Dabbling with fiction

His head pounds as images flicker by. It has been hours since something has really caught his attention; it has been almost painful to notice the mountains of blank stares rushing past. Sometimes he spots a hint of light; a teaspoon of recognition poured out with a creamy, how are you? Although, by the end of the day, the smiles and frowns are all absorbed in the grace of forgetting. Sometimes he pretends to forget in hopes that people will continually expect less and less of him. He says he’s too old to care. What he’s really saying: I’ve been hurt too much to hope.

Which is why after laying his eyes on her  for the first time, he let the sensation of attraction dissolve rapidly. They never spoke directly, only happened to exchange glances, at least he thought she was looking at him. Then again, perhaps she was staring right past him, aiming her vision at someone else or something else.

The second time she walked into the store, she was accompanied by a handsome man with dimples attached to his smile and a laugh that lingered in the air long after the pulse of vocal output faded. He couldn’t tell if they were together or not. Their physical features indicated that they were either related or in a long term relationship. Wasn’t that the same dimply smile which caught his attention in the first place? Flustered by his internal interrogation of the stranger, he withdrew his gaze.

Published by Anna Buck

"everything was beautiful and nothing hurt."

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