(work in progress)
A trembling hand brushed her ratty hair, full of split ends and the small, careless curls, away from her face. Although she had been growing her hair out for some time, she could never quite get it past that annoying length which kept her constantly fidgeting with it. This fidgeting wasn’t a new thing for her; she was always messing with her hair, gnawing on her lip, or biting her nails. Typical attributes for any girl who is nervous, and waiting; waiting for what has seemed like forever.
However, this wasn’t just any girl. True, her overall appearance could have had her mistaken for someone else. Medium length brown hair, tinged with highlights from one too many days out in the sun, yet her complexion was still as fair as could be, her face dotted with a few careless freckles. She was normal height, about 5’5, a little underweight with small shoulders, tiny hips, and an even tinier waist. Her smile, although mostly absent, hung heavy when it appeared, almost as if she was fighting to get it up. Her cheeks weren’t rosy except for when the air was cold, or when she blushed, and she had a tendency to blush quite often. Walking with her head down in a crowd you would never have been able to pick this girl out, until she raised her head, and captured your gaze with hers. Those eyes. It was those eyes which unknowingly teased the hearts of men, it was those eyes which quietly cried out in pain yet at the same time it was those eyes which concealed some crystal blue mystery that even the owner may be oblivious to. It was those eyes which had seen sorrow in all forms and wept for the very soul of humanity. A glimpse into the recesses of these eyes left you feeling alone, isolated in this wintry gaze, ultimately captured in its beauty, despair, and intrigue. In the instant her eyes meet yours, these feelings surge through your veins, only to disappear a fleeting moment later when she her gaze returns to the cold, gray, pavement, continuing her walk along the street. In passing, after catching her eyes for that split second, you are left to wonder whether you ever really made eye contact with her at all, or if it was some fabulous daydream in which your mind wandered into.
But this night, there was no crowd to search through, no gesture to make or no words to say in hope of capturing this glance. This night it was her, and it was the waiting. Her glance was fixed on the ground, running over the dreary gravel and rocks, not daring to steal a look up, answering the question her heart already knew: He’s not here. He’s not here yet, he’s not coming, he never comes through. This incessant waiting was wearing at her heart, yet she could not leave. Glued to this boy by some unknown force, she felt that if she left now, the ripping away would leave her worse off.
(not yet complete…)