So Jash is doing this poetry prompt writing.He showed me the picture of the week and I was inspired to write my own little something. A story kind of came to my head about a woman...
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She arrives fifteen minutes before. Thinking its better to be early than late. Maybe have conversation with strangers to pass the time. Imagining the color of eyes or how she will feel to hear those first few words spoken and what they might be. This might be the first meeting for the first in a while. This may be the last. A woman. Age... unknown. She may be in her twenties or passing through her fifties. Is this a lover she is waiting on or the possibility of a lover, or even one who once was. No doubt she came early to due the the anxiety or maybe this was a night alone. Just for her. To celebrate the freedom of being, and wandering. This glass represents many women and their stories. She spent the day planning in her head what to wear. From her bra and panties to the dress and nylons. Whether to up do her hair or let it float down. So many decisions to be made. Will heels look too much or flats not enough? The questions are overwhelming. As she drives she thinks whether or not she will drink or stick to water. Should she eat and what should it be? Make sure nothing is in her teeth. At the red light she looks in the review mirror to check her make up one last time. Her lips. The one thing she is confident in. She pulls out her color. Red. Its like putting on confidence. Brings everything together and she feels like everything will work. She drives up and the valet takes her keys. She walks in. Arriving early she has the upper hand. Tripping when walking in or trying to find the right table. The cards are in her hand. The first sight of her won't be clumsy or embarrassing. Sitting at the table she picked. She will be able to control what he or anyone sees while she sits and waits for time to pass. Now this woman may be meeting someone for the first time. Set up on a blind date. She may be waiting for her boyfriend or husband. At this point hes running late. Refilling her glass and moving it around the table...little rings of mist and the sweat from her glass become her company. She sits and waits. Maybe this is a special engagement, an anniversary or birthday, or just the weekly dinner. Sadly too much time has passed and she waits. Watching others eating, laughing, whispering to one another. Engaging in private conversations. But she just sits there and waits. This woman sits and thinks. Now she may like I've said, been meeting someone new. It may be someone whom she is in love with now. But also...this maybe someone that once was. Once was a lover, once was a friend, once was more to her than anything. Reuniting with the past. Wondering what the future holds. So many ideas of who this guest could be. But for now she sits and sips her glass of wine and moves it around the table. On first arrival she was freshly done. But now her bobby pins have readjusted and her hair spray has weakened. Little strands begin to move and falling all around. Her shoes have slipped off and she leans back a little in her chair or booth. Now she is relaxed. Her camouflage is now wearing off. As she sits...
Another thing I thought when I looked at this picture:
I see her across the room. Sitting in her beautiful dress and matching heels. Her hair so perfect and her make up just right. She sits and sips on her glass of wine. I'm not sure if she is meeting someone or if she is confident enough to come out alone. She sits there and glances at the door. I can't tell what her age is. She seems to be much older than I. I'm 21 and not sure of much in life. I sit and worry and can't stay still in my seat. She sits so confident. I see her lipstick from her. Red. Wow. What confidence to wear such a color. I wear a darker pink. But she, she wears red. She has these wrinkles on her face. But they are so beautiful. What life she must have lived. What stories she can tell. She sits in dim of light. The only words I can use to describe her are, collected her her thoughts, tranquil, composed, easygoing... Placid. She looks at her watch and sudenly she is up and moving towards the door. Her hand runs across the table as her body faces the door. She leaves a tip and walks out. Now..all that is there of her .... is her confidence..left on her glass. Red