Cent et Un Mots par Jour

Strain your ears if you want to hear her. Her tiny voice, her mousy voice, is barely audible above the sound of the wind. You can almost see through her fair skin. Her clothes are the color of the walls, of the tar, of the city's dirt. You'll miss her if you blink. If you hurt her, she won't cry, but there will be tears on her cheeks. If you shout at her, she will look down. She'll retreat in a safer place, in her mind, and you will never see her again. But if you love her, she will eclipse the sun. Her lovely face will fill your sky. And you know what ? You will never forget the moment you listened to her carefully. The moment you really looked at her, and she became visible.

Claire Annovazzi