Poetry Journal January 17, 2024

 

 I stare at two photos she posted over herself, unable to tell which one is the real her, it either is – one, the happy-go-lucky gal she most displays in the videos she posts, the other, darker, cautious, maybe even scared, as if we have both traveled back in time to when she believe she had every right to be, hair pinned back, head slightly turned, as if she felt the need to be ready to run if she had to.

The brighter picture has her hair down as she smiles, both bearing the same intense stare, eyes so deep I drown in them. I’m not sure which one I believe though leaning towards the darker face as it face is the closest I’ll ever get to the real her.


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