Scene at a Concert

There she is, back to me, front to stage. Legs crossed, white sweater. That same white sweater.

Golden strands weaved beautifully straight diving down to end in subtle swirls. Perfect imperfections in length, distributed evenly amongst the snow.

Moving forward, back again, friends have no idea. I kind of wish they did.

How easy how easy to walk ten feet forward. No one'd walk away, no gamble taken, just a quick embrace. Of all the things my hands have held.

Time has passed, band moves to next song, I wish I knew it. Steady as a rock, the whitegold shape shrouded in dark, colors closer than common chromes.

Seconds of my life fly past me and in them I do nothing but stare shocked at their speed, stunned into silence.