Peripheral

In the softest light, she almost looks real.
How she twirls her hair, absently, without thought.
Eyes empty as her heart, that crooked smile frozen on her lips.
She moves, looking up at me.
Her lips part, “oh sorry, didn’t see you there.”
Almost a whisper too loud for me to hear.

That’s how it is, almost but not there.

She has a way with whispers.

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