people walk by and it makes her feel exposed, though no one is paying attention, no one is looking. you walk by, and it’s easy to keep your eyes on the road when you are headed somewhere, when you are in motion. in your passing, in your ambulation, you keep your eyes on the horizon, sharpened and undeviating. your eyes don’t make it to the sidelines, and they don’t catch sight of this blind spot wherein she sits quietly, feeling exposed with her too-dark lips.
she must sleep a while, she thinks.
she needs to watch her heart beat on the other side.
the lines, they remind her of cat scratches, though it’s not because of you, it’s because of her.