I saw the most beautiful face today, attached to a woman who was herself attached—a chain no one can measure—to a man. Bitter, that was. I don't know her, and I guess I wouldn't want to. First, because I felt a scathing fear course through me at how long I felt compelled to stare at her, trying to measure the depths of her, so I could find out if she was too big to fit in my imagination. Second, because I told her niece that she had eyes like Hera's, and the little girl tattled on me. Cow eyes.
I'm not sure we would be friends. She didn't say hello to me, nor I to her, and any opportunity of that has evaporated long since. I don't think she wants or needs male friends who struggle replacing their minds every time she smiles, and that's what she would do to me, I guarantee. I found myself scanning the room, surreptitiously, trying to crane my neck to see her once more, however briefly.
I left this and came back, and I want to delete it, make it disappear, erase it for a million reasons, but I'm leaving it. I think it's interesting, seeing into how other people think, especially about things that are mildly embarrassing. I do want to try again and do her justice, though. I want to remember what I felt when I had my first impression sorted. I want to remember and do no dishonor to the utter impossibility of the situation.
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