Today, I do not look.

The fingers fold in insecurity. Why you look at another, glance at her; rate and rank her beauty, her ways. You go as far as to think her life better or worse.

Sly, a little bit of airs. Why my dear, don’t you talk with a smile, flick your hair with a childish bit of being conscious?

Aware, but no roving eyes. So much observing. So much of what she wears.

My, I am me and that’s it. So many with their severe and subtle expressions and body language.

The shape, the size, the colour, dilated eyes: constricted wavelength.

The money, the yesterday, the genes, the where do you stay and did that LED box on your lap just cost you a grand?

I am consumed. So many eyes falling on so many colours.

The sight of rejecting happy contentedness.

Pursed, folded, looking at the feet. Eyes observing; haughty and then at once baffled at my calm. As i type, you wonder, for whom do I write this rather long ‘text’.

To no one, to every one. It is an observation. 

Just an observation.


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