Friday, September 22, 2006


She is one of those types, you know, a rebel. Feet are on the seat in front, staring out of the window with a grim face shouting all the injustice in this world in silence. In these big bright eyes that are totally surrounded by thick black outlining of an eyeliner, she is holding a story. A story that is denying her a smile.

No, she is not alone in this moving train. Her boyfriend is very present with all of his efforts to draw her attention, perhaps to cheer her up. Yet, unlike the train, the rebel is unmoved. Not a single glance, not even a smirk.

Just when I get sure that she is not going to smile despite all the efforts, the boyfriend literally shows her how to smile, using his fingers stretching her lips; And she smiles. She smiles and smiles as if a spell is broken. What a pretty smile!

O smile, why are you so shy?

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