Dreamy gaze and nail biting.
She leans on the counter waiting for her chocolate-sparkled latte to be ready. Black ripped stockings stand out over her pallid skin and rosy cheeks.
The wait is long and the flowers drawn on her frilly purple dress wither in silence. She turns and swiftly crosses my look. In that glimpse I read that she is sinking in the realm of missed chances. It is like summer is over and the light is dim and senses muffled and feet slow. The art of dancing keeps her alive – firm knees and refined legs – but a turmoil of emotions possess those eyes that stare at other realities and possibilities.
The process of accepting the past and plunge forward. It feels like the wait is long, but the coffee will be served.