I recently had the opportunity to spend some time with a friend, albeit a short time, no longer than five minutes, she left a favourable impression on me, not that I had expected an unfavourable one, but analysis of her body language and the emotions in her eyes proved to be a treasure chest.
Her tone that contravened the essence of the words she spoke.
Her eyes that spoke of a desire to be loved for who she is and not her beauty,
of wisdom and discernment at love temporal and love long lasting.
Her hands that moved not, her eyes that wandered occasionally,
of curiosity, of humour, of suspicion, with a tinge of trust.
She had been through a lot,
and it was just so she could feel loved.
Yet despite the experiences she had, the scarring she had felt,
the near seamless weaving of images, shadows, figures and assumptions,
she has yet to find it.
But she trudges on. Silently, reclusively, full of resilience.
The marvel of one's eyes.
And so she sat,
and our eyes met.
Moments happy teary sad,
And memories were the only thing she had.
