She waits on the steps of his building, <br />sitting daintily, so not to crease her dress <br />checking and rechecking her appearance <br />in a silver-plated compact mirror <br />(a present from him, bought on one of many trips) <br /> <br />She avoids eye contact with passers-by <br />not wanting them to think that she's 'that sort of woman' <br /> <br />'I'll be down in a minute' he said to her - some time ago <br /> <br />She looks up at his window seven stories up where the light <br />is still blazing.... a beacon against the sky, <br />now dark, <br />the sky casting a shadow over her eager hopes and <br />naive disposition <br /> <br />Finally, she takes her leave, <br />uncertain, with little steps <br />looking up, <br />then looking down.... <br />still avoiding eye-contact with passers-by <br />feeling exactly like 'that sort of woman'.<br /><br />YURI DURAAN<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sad-girl-2/
