I peek another glance at her. She notices this time, and moves her hands across her face.
“Come on, please look at me,” I say.
“No, I can’t,” she says. Her husband died in an accident. I’ve been waiting for this moment since he died, and I’ve got all the time in the world. I only had to wait for her to catch up (she stopped working and got a bit rusty) and give me time. I move her hands from her face.
“But, I’m so complicated,” she says. “Nobody can read me.”
“I understand you just fine,” I say. I’m exactly like you.
“But I have a face just like everybody else,” she says.
“Well, I think yours is the most beautiful,” I say. She must have been painted by Leonardo DaVinci himself.
Her hands are all over the place now, her gears riled up. I take her little hand in my big hand.
I love you,
· Fri Jan 11, 2013 @ 10:40pm · 0 Comments