where she whent

my gaze returns to earth and when it does its her. eyes I see not the way I used to see them-around every corner behind my own closed. lids at the start of each day not in the way I used to imagine. them in the eyes. of every other. girl. I laid on top of no this. time. it really. is her eyes a potoe of her dressed in black. a cello leaning against one shoulder like a tired. child her hair. is up in one of those buns that seem to be a requisite for. classical musicians. she used to wear it up like that for recitals and chamber. music concerts but with little pieces hanging down to., soften the severity of the look there are no tendrils in this potoe I peer closer at the sign. YOUG CONCERT SERIES PRESENTS MIA HALL