The Entrance Hall

I’m in an entrance hall.

And I look towards the furthest doorway.

I see her.

She looks up. And immediately casts her eyes downwards.

She assumes that I can see her.

I can.

But what she believes I can see, she is ashamed of.

She doesn’t wish for it to be seen.

By anyone.

She’s spent a life time holding up a facade.

A cumbrous lie. Forever against the weight of gravity.

But what I see is not that.

And if she could see what I see, I imagine that her life would be so very different.

I wish that for her.

I wish she would look up.