Her hair was young.

Her face was not.

Her eyes, behind glasses, were quick.

 

 Her hips were wide.

Her smile was not.

Her hand, on your collar, familiar.

 

I watch as you see her;

the tousled hair, and past the glass, the eyes,

which though focused on mine, fill yours with a light I barely remember.

 

And I know what I might never have guessed…

on my own.

 

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