A story for Hallowe’en….
I see her everyday but she doesn’t see me.
She walks with confident purpose, head held high, spine straight as a ballerina, eyes sharp and focused. I watch her enter the building, check her mailbox and imagine the click of her heels as she makes her way to the elevator, the black and white image on my monitor highlighting her porcelain skin.
Apartment 42B. That’s where she lives. I switch cameras to watch her hit the button in the lift. She almost always glances in the mirrored wall of the elevator and runs her fingers through the long dark waves that cascade over her shoulders. Unless she has her hair up; those days she pulls out the pins and lets it tumble free down her back, as if she cannot bear to keep it constrained for another minute longer. I wonder what those waves smell like…
After watching her walk…
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