The pen caught between nimble fingers was tapping in a staccato rhythm… sometimes against the worn out spiral notebook else her chin.
Long, beautiful curls streaming around her face were pushed back by fingers on which her forehead rested.
An intense look of confusion and passion was writ large on her face; a face so expressive and transparent was enhanced by troubled eyes. Every flitting emotion had its own story to tell in a language hard to interpret.
She was bent over the table furiously scribbling away and after a few seconds scratched it all out. It wasn’t her words but confusions that she wrote only to erase. Eyes full of sorrow and a ghost of a smile on the lips, she refused to look towards the door. She seemed to seek solace from none but one.
He stood and watched her from afar. She was his bundle of contradictions. Rings on both the hands drew his eyes to her every moment.
Unaware of people and sounds, she was engrossed in weaving thoughts.
He had traced his steps to the place for this is where she sought solitude and he her company.
A gateway was what he looked for to the thing she held precious: her thoughts.
A paradox of hope and conflict, she troubled and soothed his every waking thought and haunted dreams.
Untouched by her dilemma he craved to embrace it all.