A Cunning Cunundrum

The smile she wears craftily masks the mess underneath.

She glances around the room timidly, both needing to see him and desperate not to.

She chats gracefully with her friends.

Under her guise of tranquility he possesses every thought.

She hates herself for it.

There he is.

She tastes yellow, putrid like bile and callousness.

She unclenches her teeth and turns her cheek.

She swallows her emotions.

Her fingertips tingle with anticipation.

If he smiles at her, they are done for.

The fear of the consequences grip her whole being.

They all rise as the wedding march begins.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *