The late afternoon sun, leaked its light through the trees, casting strange shadows on the man made path in the green space in the middle of the city. The park was alive with the noise of kids screaming and dogs barking, but I was just sitting there, chain-smoking and waiting for her.
I looked up from my cigarette and saw her walking toward me, her steps look soft and unhurried, like she had all the time in the world. Her hair, a messy tumble of gold, caught the sunlight, turning it into a glimmering halo. She wasn't just walking, she was gliding, her presence cutting through all the noise like a knife.
She sat down beside me, the old bench creaking under our weight. "Hey," she said, her voice had a sweet rasp, like they were her first words spoken that day.
I took a long drag and blew the smoke into the air. "Hey yourself," I said, looking at her out of the corner of my eye. She was beautiful, sure, but it wasn't the kind of beauty you see in magazines. It was raw, unpolished, unnoticed.
She laughed, a sound that made my world stop for a second every time. "What's so funny?" I asked, though I didn't really care about the answer.
"Just you," she said, leaning back and looking up at the sky. "Always lost in your own head."
I shrugged, flicking ash onto the ground. "Better than being lost out there," I said, nodding toward the chaos of the park.
We sat there, not saying much, just watching the world go by. And in that silence, I realized something, her beauty wasn't in her looks, though they were something to write home about. It was in the way she carried herself, like she didn't give a damn what anyone thought. It was in her laugh, her voice, the way she had the ability to make everything feel.....a little less heavy.
She turned to me, her eyes catching the dying light. "You gonna be alright?" she asked, a touch of concern in her voice.
I took another drag and nodded. "Yeah," I said, exhaling smoke. "As long as you're around."
And for once, in that moment, I actually believed it.
YOU ARE READING
Life in the mundane
Historia CortaOne shot scene (in a series of shorts with no connection) written over the last decade, about longing, one sided love, people observations and hoping to find courage to move forward
