Forty-five years old
Curly and gelled, bright dyed dark brown hair
Blue eyes, red lips
Crow's feet and starter wrinkles.
Flat but not vacant she stares
The world holds nothing of particular interest
For her.
Curving legs crossed at the knee
Her only hug from constricting black slacks
A baggy jacket hides what's inside.
Mechanically downing her coffee
Sip, pause, sip
Not noticing, not caring
As every drop scalds her weathered tongue.
Drifting, her gaze sees nothing
Yet there's still a touch of spite
She resents the world and its colours.
Bitter and jaded, she stares
Out of yesterday's porcelain doll face
Retired and forgotten and worse
No one cares.
I would give anything for adventure if you would give everything for love.
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