Such a pretty shop, she thought. Only that it should
deserve greater care. Look, the dust is a cloak that captures the light. A
cobweb for every gray year, and it shall soon turn into a giant spider’s lair. Look,
in the mirror. Look, through the glass. We both have aged. This little shop and
I. Time has paled us; cruel or welcome? She drifts to the doorway, and stares.
A sweet countenance receiving a shock, footsteps retreating into the shadows. Wait,
she calls. You look familiar. So slowly, and warily, the figure returns. Blank
eyes stare back into mine. Though there is no light in them, perhaps it casts a
spell. My soul is bleached. They knew each other, once, long ago – in a broken
dream. She lifts a hand, brought close to the glass. On the other side, a
tentative hand approaches. A wall divides – two worlds apart. Always together,
but never again. Somewhere …
Palms meet.
No comments:
Post a Comment