Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Smoke arose from the tip of her cigarette
Smoke arose from the tip of her cigarette. She lifted her hand, and the cigarette rolled about between her elegant fingers. She took it to her lips that parted lazily. She gazed at me with languid eyes. I shifted nervously and looked away from her. The wind played with her hair. It blew strongly into my face. Every now and then she would brush her hair back. The sun was a now a bright orange in color. The clouds bathed themselves around the sun and assumed many shapes. The waves rolled in, and splashed at the rocks. Then she spoke.
She spoke words that had much meaning. There was emotion in her voice. Softly did she speak but as much as the waves would roar, they couldn’t mute her voice nor conceal her words. Words that left her lips, and twirled in the smoke. Words that bathed in the orange sunlight. Words that splashed among the waves. Words that blew past my face.
Color streaked her face – Orange hues splashed her cheek. Her nose lit up sharply on one side, and cast a shadow on the other. Her eyes were lazy and liquid. They were burning inside – intense at the core, but placid in the surface. Her eyes gazed at me. They gazed beyond me. They looked right through me.
She spoke to me. She spoke so much more than the words that carried to me. Her words then lost their meaning. Like the smoke from her cigarette, they rose but faded away. But she meant so much more than the words could mean. She said so much more than mere words can express. I listened to her, and sometimes I caught her words. Other times I looked into her eyes, and I knew what she meant.