A Fleeting Glance
I walked by the diner today.
Through its tinted, rose-coloured glass, I saw a girl sitting at the booth.
She sat there deeply engrossed in her book. Something about Communism, I think.
A lone fry lingered by, as her hands stood there fixed, mere inches away from her lips.
Her brown hair fell by her sides in easy curls and she wore glasses too big for her face, resting just at the tip of her nose.
The neon lights reflected by, painting her in colours pink, blue and purple. She looked like an angel cast from heaven.
The kind who you see after hours in public libraries or in museums, starstruck by the Starry Night or The Supper painted by DA Vinci.
I smiled and scratched my head, walking back home with a beautiful picture treasured in my mind.
I wonder if she had looked up once. Maybe caught the curious eyes of a stranger transfixed by her warm aura.
I wonder if she wrote about him too.
I hope it was me.
