A Year In Prose

Half - 141 Words
Aaron Dethrage

I see a girl–her nose buried in a book–sitting near the ornate fountain outside the library where I work. I am looking at her intently, but she never breaks her gaze, never glances my way. Her feet are submerged up to the ankles in the pool that the fountain forms; her faded jeans grip loosely to her knees, rolled up with a haphazard care. She is swirling the water in small, opposing circles that form magnifying ripples, filling the pool like a majestic song, and I am gazing still. I wonder what it is she’s reading and how I might compete, what words I might speak to spread a smile across her freckled checks. I decided not to try, to abandon my efforts and continue walking home, and with a half-convinced heart I fell it better to roam.

Song to Come: I am Certain I am a Train - Levi Weaver