Tentative.
She grins over her shoulder at me,
and I run my fingertips over the abrade skin of my knuckles.
I listen as she talks, noticing how she speeds up to accommodate the bush spilling onto the sidewalk for me to pass, just to slow for me to catch up to her.
She smiles again- blinding and unassuming. Sweet. Youthful. Rain beads on blonde curls, long eyelashes and roll across freckles into the collar of a sweater.
I wonder if she smells like pumpkin spice, or vanilla, or something equally as comforting on a dreary morning.
I blink, running my finger to one of the rings I wear.
I feel wholly uneven on the ground I walk on, her gaze always on me, her feet sure on the terrain. I wonder why she stares. Why she grins as she probes into my life, asking about dates and if im searching.
My nail digs into the open wound on my hand when she suggests she's looking. too