Isabella Foster
I like a look of agony
because I know it's true
I
f it is anything to you, well I would not also trust no one else aside from you to help me accessorize,” I say looking at her, using the opportunity to pretend as if I am merely staring at her jewelry and silk, as if I were not admiring the way her body was slender yet strong, and regal. She was beautiful, in a way Fosters were not. It was—delightful.I place that chain across her forehead and I hold my breath for how close we are. Too close, and still, not quite close enough. I want to wonder what she is thinking, but I know that if I begin I may never stop wondering. I watch her look at herself and I hope she admires herself the way I feel like doing now. Does she look as carefully as I do at her cheekbones? Does she gaze down at the line of her lips? And does she wallow in the color of her eyes and try to remember where else she has seen such a colors. I would not tell her, but i think I am a far batter admirer of Hagar, than Hagar could ever be of herself.
I feel her words sink inside me like an anchor. “Maybe I can try to trust you later,” I say with a smile I try to give, but it is probably nothing more than a simper on my face that wears apathy better than it ever did happiness. Our eyes catching in the mirror together is an entirely new experience altogether, and I am not quite sure how to describe it. So I don’t.
“If I see you again, I can stare at it too,” I say in a way that hangs on flirtation, but doesn't quite make it. I look at the pendant one more time. “I will be there,” I say before a startling realization. “I am so sorry, but I have to get back to class.” I turn and leave with a final goodbye.
As I sit in class, I am silently kicking myself, running through better scenarios the ending to our meeting could have been.
picture colored by Elidhu
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