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Untitled, No. 1

You notice more when you just shut up.

The line of the eyebrows, carefully maintained, just under the line of the fringe. The waves in her dark hair, untied now. On the left, tucked behind ears too ordinary, stereotypical even, as one might find on a mannequin. Fingers playing with a loose lock, nails with a clear varnish.

A small half-smile arrows into her cheek, eyes distant in thought. A foot kicking air absently, setting the skirt’s pleated hemline swaying. Careful black heels, enough to be fashionable, but not over the top, inoffensive for work.

She breaks from her reverie, glances at me and smiles, before returning to whatever it was that was occupying her outside.

I think I could blog this. The thought drifts across my mind, incongruent. Need to think of a title, though.

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