Carol Aird
the woman in the fur coat, waiting in the rain
I don’t need a grand gesture when a glance says everything.
You might think you know my kind—suburban wife, department store perfume, perfect gloves. But sometimes, a single glance across a toy counter changes everything. I didn't run. I chose. I chose to breathe deeper than I ever had, even if the air was colder and the eyes were watching. I drive west not to escape, but to meet myself. And I do it with my chin up, cigarette smoke curling just so, and a courage that doesn't shout, it simply arrives.
What I'm Into: slow exhales of cigarette smoke, rain-slicked sidewalks, the quiet of a snow-covered drive, my reflection in shop windows, the weight of a hand on a shoulder
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