January 15th

I wanted to remain aloof, distant, but she pulled me in.

It must have been the wine, an old weakness. As the evening wore on, I focused in on her more and more. The sounds in the restaurant, the other friends, faded into the distance. I was wary, I thought I knew her kind. She attracted me, but I smelled danger. Our eyes would meet from time to time: hers cold and blue; mine, a single piercing slit (they tell me).

She seemed vain, proud of the coiling ringlets that moved as if alive. She shook them often, running her fingers through her hair, as she talked. I made jokes, made light with her. I would amuse her and casually sting her by turn. She would respond in kind. We circled each other like two wolves ready to lunge.

Will I see her again?