Eye Of The Storm

Her picture. A girl from high school. I loved her at a distance.

Short brown hair, unkempt. Petulant face that ached to open.

Distant. Dark eyes, that did not reveal. But fire might consume them.

 

Navy blue. Her jacket was navy blue. She cherished it. It was her armor.

Her mother bought it for her. She loved her mother. I pushed my own away.

Navy blue. Locked in my mind as safe and strong. Latch onto that color forever.

 

That one day. Just her and I. The fat and wet snowflakes in her brown hair.

We talked. I saw that petulant face finally open, like the eye of a hurricane.

The eye of the hurricane is a moment’s peace, and then it passes back to storm.

 

The last time I saw her. November. She was moving out west with her new man.

She said it gets so cold in New Mexico. The snows are more bitter in all that nothing.

Navy blue jacket. She hugged me tight and close. I’ve never seen her again.

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