It’s and interesting thing.
You see her wintry cobalt eyes dance across the delicately written words of her book, the inky letters wrapping around the strokes of sunshine in her irises. Each word integrating into her delicate features, as she gently turns to the next page. The only sound that fills the room the rustling of the pages between her fingers and the small breathes that escape her slightly parted pink lips. You’re heart forgets to beat as she spares a moment to give a small smile your way over the edge of her book. She places her small tattered bookmark between the pages and as she snaps the book shut, the loud chatter of the coffee shop around you floods back into your mind. In the moment of being submerged back into reality, you lost her. She faded into the chaos of the world that has too often left you with knots in your chest.
Nobody notices you stare at the empty chair that know one had been sitting, except for the her. The girl that to everyone else had died three years ago…but to you, is very much alive.