Paean

She was standing right there, and I couldn’t not look.

She’s all in black, with lavender lips, and she won’t look at me.

She looks sad.

Imperfection can be hot.

A woman on a train, and the stories I tell myself about her.

A woman on the subway, covered from chin to ankle, and the Aerie bag in her lap.

Two pretty brunettes on the subway, each lost in her phone, each oblivious to the world — until one accidentally touches the other.

A young woman walks ahead of me, and I am grateful for every step.

A friend’s contribution: an ode to a woman on a bus, written with the precision of someone who notices everything and says nothing.

She’s not perfect, but she’s perfect for me.