Damn. I stop and lift my head, determined to be at least polite, and find myself stopping short.
Her face.
I don't recognize the woman, exactly. She's beautiful- even if there wasn't something hauntingly familiar about her, I would see from a mile away that she's beautiful- but there's something about her mouth, and the shape of her face, her nose.
She looks so much like Peggy. Her hair is a different color, a different cut. Her eyes are a warm soft brown, not the startling, clear blue that Sharon inherited from her aunt, but coloring aside, the women could be sisters.
They could be twins.
And she knows me.
I know I'm staring, peering at her like a puzzle, like I'm being faced with something I can't remember being either real or dreamed up. Slipping the nub that was my sketching pencil into my pants pocket, I turn toward her and take a few steps across the room.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2011-11-15 07:58 am (UTC)Her face.
I don't recognize the woman, exactly. She's beautiful- even if there wasn't something hauntingly familiar about her, I would see from a mile away that she's beautiful- but there's something about her mouth, and the shape of her face, her nose.
She looks so much like Peggy. Her hair is a different color, a different cut. Her eyes are a warm soft brown, not the startling, clear blue that Sharon inherited from her aunt, but coloring aside, the women could be sisters.
They could be twins.
And she knows me.
I know I'm staring, peering at her like a puzzle, like I'm being faced with something I can't remember being either real or dreamed up. Slipping the nub that was my sketching pencil into my pants pocket, I turn toward her and take a few steps across the room.
"Yes?"