Your hair

Lucy sits in the bar watching you talk. Each time you move your hands, I see Lucy’s eyes flick to your fingertips. She looks as though she isn’t looking, you won’t notice. But she keeps checking. You push your right hand through your hair, and I see Lucy sigh and look away. What does she think about you? I don’t know if she’s even been brave enough to see you properly. Lucy can’t even know the colour of your eyes, she’s never let herself get close enough to you for that. She’s not brave enough for that, no, she’s had the look of a frightened animal since you walked in here. What’s she afraid of? You? The idea that anyone would be afraid of you? Crazy. It’s not you that she’s afraid of, I guess. I would guess it’s the idea of the two of you. You are oblivious to all of this, as usual. You just keep talking, laughing, having a great time and pushing your hand through your damned hair.

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