Subtle Descriptions

She stood watching at the window. For what, for who, for when. A disruption of some kind. She is a strange sight, someone so young peering nervously, cautiously through the streaked glass. The afternoon light fades to an empty blackness, and still she remains thinking, staring. Perhaps she fancies herself to be Socrates, judging her world harshly, clarifying her revelations to be written down someday. Imaginary interviews with her critics, displaying her talents and coaxing an audience into adoring her. Every expression is flawlessly synchronized to convince everyone she is beautiful. Attraction is simply perception, and a moment's deceit can leave a permanent impression. Each monologue is delivered with stunning clarity to her mirror, and she longs for the day when fantasy merges with reality. If only they could see how good she can be. She has a painful grudge against anyone who is effortlessly charming. They were born talented, gorgeous, and witty. And when she stands before them, every perfect composition, every confident smile becomes awkward, disingenuine, and feeble. Her wish list is shallow, but she has spent her life pursuing matters of the soul. Every attempt in this regard was futile. Her performance is for every one of those haters. All of the suspicious glares and shameless gossip, take this and this, she says. Vulnerability is like a gun shot wound, it is painful and useless, unless given the proper care. So, she will pretend and they will believe it. She will stand at the window waiting for them to catch a glimpse of her. She will reel them in, stir them into her brew, and chug down every drop of their admiration.