Mysterious Woman

A Scribble.

Mysterious Woman

She sits in her chair, every single day.

Every day, she waits for him looking astray.

I find her applying her rosey pink gloss,

But to no avail does she find him across

from her, or from anyone else.

Sadness fills her eyes and stretches across her face.

Knowing that he’ll never show, and never enter that place.

What she thinks, or why she stays, no one knows.

 

It must be love, because it’s the only thing we outgrow.