Through the Looking Glass


I saw her sitting there, like in a dream, behind the big house, at a table for two, surrounded by everything green and vibrant and alive. There was no shade, unless one walked under the rose garden arbor, and I sensed more than saw the small beads of sweat tickle the back of her neck. Her eyes closed when she laughed, not unlike mine, and her lips parted in a familiar way when she spoke. He was telling her stories, a barmecide platter of fairytales meant to lure and entice. She preferred her own dreams. I read it on her face, marked the moment with a sigh. She wore a malleable expression, teetering on interest and boredom. The thin gasps of air, it was a lifetime too long! She slowly tugged on her tight braids until they erupted, wild and free. She removed her white gloves and dabbed at the sweat I could feel, that pervasive heat all around. Was she dreaming of another time, another place, where her own stories were composed – jotted down on small scraps of paper to fly away with a cool breeze. He talked two minutes too long and the look in her eyes begged me to come get her.

Photo Credit: here

2 thoughts on “Through the Looking Glass

  1. Wow, the last line was killer. “He talked two minutes too long and the look in her eyes begged me to come get her.” Haven’t we all know someone who did that and prayed that it would never be us? I read and reread this twice it is so lovely, Tricia. Hope you have a wonderful weekend.

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