Her high cheekbones caught and led my fascinated gaze to her eyes. That is where I got stuck. Ice blue is the only description I can come up with for ...his woman’s eyes. They were the colour of glacier ice in the morning, when the sun first hits it. But for all that they held infinite warmth and humour. They were smiling at me as our gaze locked. The world shrank to the space around us, the air grew hotter and more humid, and I felt like a 15 year old boy facing the object of his desire for the. She is tired of being sad, tired of not even minding that someone her age should grieve. And in the thin bony box of her head she understands, and accepts, the fact that her immense unhappiness is doomed to irrelevance anyway. Why worry? Why yearn toward a dream that is doomed to be unfulfilled? Because it would ease my regret. The woman can’t even express her inner turmoil to others, apart from holding onto a loud, scratchy moan. She does this, on occasion, to no effect. She feels a part of. More

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