Sunglasses on. High heels on. Decorative hat and scarf on. Form-fitting attire on. Air of carelessness and confidence spitting out while the eyes barely meet mine. The gaze glides over like a snake over the horizon, then notices mine for a fraction of a seemingly long moment, spirals downward and away. In shame. Or fear. And though everything about the outside is screaming for attention, the eyes hardly meet mine.
"Sometimes the clothes do not make the man." -George Michael
I want to see the eyes. I want to feel the creature behind the wall of perceived perfection. I want to make contact with another human in a human way. A smile would suffice. A visual contact, lasting two fractions of a seemingly long moment, to acknowledge the other's presence. To dissolve the pretense for that long. To be that who we are, siblings made of the same ingredients and baked to perfection.
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