In the wee hours of Dawn's early light, I chanced a glance upon a beautiful woman
She wore a long, multicolored summer dress that kissed the ground she walked upon
Her hair was long and disheaveled as if she had merely woken up but it was apparent that
she would still be beautiful, despite just awakening
I, in all my awe, sat upon my rickety chair upon the porch and pondered on
the creature that walked my way, as if entranced
Who was she? I wanted to get to know her.
She stopped in front of my porch, wearing a quizzical look and looking at the book
held in my hands
It was the Broken Eye by Brent Weeks, a novel I could not put down
"What is it that you are reading?" she asked me, no preamble. Her voice
was not to be expected. It was deep and husky, like a dream.
I quickly found my voice. "Broken Eye by Brent Weeks."
She smiled and she wore adorable dimples that matched her soft gaze.
Eyes of immense gravity, blue like a sapphire, rich like the ocean. They appeared
suddenly sad though as she bit her lip and looked East, as if needing to leave but
wanting to stay.
"What is your name?" I finally asked, after a pregnant silence. Her head stayed turned,
and I could just make out a glisten of a tear on her cheek.
"My name..." she whispered, confused. She looked back at me and she weighed
me quietly. "I don't remember my name."
It hit me like a hurricane. This beautiful woman, with beauty that could
be glorified at the top of the highest mountain, had early dementia and it saddened me
But before more could be said, she turned her back on me and softly floated away
like a mirage.
I would never forget her.