Her...
fingers slid across the sensitive surface of the pawn, trying to place it by hand on the Wizard Chess board, groans of frustration following as she tried to make sense of the game she was playing.
Her...
fingers wrapped around a goblet as she lifted the glass to her lips, head beginning to feel the alcohol she was busy pouring into it.
Her (the chance encounter)...
fingers wrapped around the arm of a friend, the others cradling around her chin, fingers to her lips as she drew a deep breath, feigning indifference as she walked past with a glancehalfsmirk.
Sorry, honey. But you're the antithesis in that I never liked you enough to keep you. And liked you too much to stand the silence.
Her...
fingers bit into my shoulder as she leaned her head forward into my shoulder each strand tumbling loosely to the way the broom was swaying.
Her small, tiny
fingers gripping a fork, messily dissecting the vegetable fingers she so liked.
Her fingers, small hands that convey so much unspoken
slowly squeezed my shoulder in farewell saying much more than she or I would have liked to in so little a gesture. Precious, like her soul. Pessimism juxtaposed with naïveté in a single, harmless(?) gesture.
A night of glances, stolen, lingering and evaded.
I miss her.