staring at them, staring at me

I sit there staring at them, staring at me

The girl with no worries; no responsibilities

And another girl... Slightly older with rusty earrings and an exhausted face

They are laughing, and yet I am clueless as to what they are laughing at

One hand held high, pointing to a face

Who’s face?

Blonde hair... Lighter than I remember... A lot shorter too.

An absent straightening iron

Lips cherry red and teeth. Muddled. Trying to find a way through.

From here I see blue eyes maybe green

Matching white tops. Pure.

Not tainted nor tinged by the arguments to come

The younger cannot see an independent mind failing to be tamed by one of elder experience

Who has tanned skin... slightly pinker; freckles under her smokey mascara line

Versus white, porcelain skin. Fragile.

Not yet gone to battle with sunburn on a Mediterranean beach.

Not yet gone to battle with the wind on her fathers triumph tiger

And not yet gone to battle with the pavement, while learning to ride her bicycle

Unfamiliar setting. Who’s antediluvian lifeless yet ever present arm chair?

Spitting images and parallel smiles but different shaped eyes

That aren’t phased by the flash