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Confession To Broken Lady


I’m praying, and also calling out for someone to take me out of here. Stand by me in misery.

I saw her busying herself with something on her hand. It seemed interesting to her that she didn’t bother to cast any attention to anything else, so adsorb into the thing on her hand. I was curious and my curiosity only getting even stronger by the passing minutes, ended up I dragged myself directly in front of her to know the reason of her seemingly endless amusement.
“What is it, Miss. It seems like you are so drawn into it?” It was 9 P.M. at night, in front of Twinkle Coffee Shop, a conventional coffee shop with Victorian touch into it, merging with little library in it, mainly the books were classical readings. That in itself became a strong distinction that made the coffee shop had its own loyal attendants. And it was my fourth times seeing her at the same place, always at her constant amusement with the same brown thing on her hand, and it was contagious. How could it not? She didn’t even realize I was falling into her world of solemn aloneness.
With smile on her face, a fairy smile indeed enough to make a fallen angel in Paradise Lost envious of her. It was that angelic a smile, words couldn’t justify it, “Little Prince, my 50th times reading.” She replied it in a short with a smile to wrap it up. Again, that beyond description serene smile.
“What’s so interesting about it?” It made a three vivid layers on my forehead. Never heard of it either, but it must be that interesting a book to make her reading it that many times probably she herself can rewrite every line in the story with perfect precision, judging by her numerous repetition of reading. She cast no single words but a smiley glances, without a smile on her face accompanying it.
She continued to wander in her own thought, giving no intervention to anyone, as if my existence was only a distraction to her enjoyment. It surprisingly made me guilty for ever asking her the question at the first place, and not to mention a total fool. But left me with strong hardly forgettable impression about her. It seemed like my initiative in making a first move turned out to be a big shaming on my face, she didn’t even care that I was exist. That there was a single human being bound to gravitate on her direction.
It was always 12 P.M. She pulled out herself from the world of only her capable to fathom. Closed the book with precise degree of tenderness, took a deep realizing soothe breath, put the thing back in her brown massager bag with, again, absolute grace. It was enchanting every moves she made, this time all the tandem eyes sought out a uniform agreement to my fascination. Tapping her sturdy step in constant rhymes, by then, she left the room in perfect awe.
The night I made insignificant act in getting to know her became my last encounter with her. Each time I laid my gazes to her usual seat I had a closet wish she was really there, with her usual solemn disposition. The more I tried to distract my sight not to pay a glance to the direction the more my eyes muscle pointed its imaginary arrow on it. Precisely a month she had been missing from my vision reach.

Save me from broken time


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