My women – 23.
I saw her sitting in the same cafe i went everyday,
I did’nt see her before,
But she didn’t seem new there.
Sitting with a book,probably a fiction,
A love story? Or was that poetry?
Her coffee was cold and untouched.
My eyes met hers,
But i knew she didn’t notice or maybe didn’t care.
Looked away outside the glass windows.
The cacophony of the city couldn’t touch her.
Couldn’t distract her.
She was there,sitting, looking out.
I couldnt stop myself from stealing a glance of her now and then,
I observed that she was looking at nothing,
I thought what i saw in her eyes was a search.
A search for something.
Something she has been looking for in many books,
This one failed her too.
This one couldn’t narate the story she wanted to hear.
This book,will go on the racks with no strings attached with her.
She will have to look for more,and more,
Till she finds the story she was looking for.
Or may be,
Someday,she will write it herself.
She will pendown all that she wanted to read.
And that unsatisfied stare in her eyes will be replaced with the joy of …
Well i myself don’t know,how that feels.
I guess,i am too in search of a story for myself.
Aren’t we all?
P.s. the character is fictional,everything happens in my mind! I sometimes have trouble understanding what is for real,and what was just a trick of the grey cells.:)
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