Distractions

"Give me a kiss," she says, and leans forward,
her faux pearls instantly leaping from her withered throat.

Pursed red lips form a prefect heart, and her eyes slip shut, a splash of blue shadow in place of her fading grey irises.

Her scent is strong: trial sized vials of perfume delicately dabbed behind her ears, and onto each wrist.

The walls are lined with photos, plates and pipe cleaner valentine cards, all yellow with age. The clutter spreads to each room: and each step seems to reveal something else from her past.

Eyelids fluttering from behind her steel rimmed glasses, her arms are open and clothed in gaudy pink material. From behind her pearls, her lipstick, eye shadow, her shopping mall scent, and the photos and memories from years and years gone by, she'll offer you something to eat, something to drink, a story from a time forgotten by everyone but her.

Her fingers dance through a cracked album and each sentence she speaks is accompanied by a cough. She gestures to a potted plant, her aquarium, a small statue in the corner of the room. She raises a fuchsia nail to point these tings out, never once making eye contact with anything but the walls.

In her mind is the voice of a girl, a voice she's lost somewhere through the years, "Please," she begs, silently, standing to return the book to the shelf, "Please notice everything but what I've become."