Tempered Vanity

We stood inside of the shop watching you outside of the shop, petting your finely raised quaff of hair in the reflection of the expansive storefront window. You turned your head to different angles, sunlight tracing the slow upward arch of your hair. It had been almost thirty-seconds of this, at one point you had made to leave then caught a concerning peripheral glimpse of your person and returned.

Eventually I waved to you from inside, you did not wave back just turned sharply on your heel into the open arms of the autumn afternoon.