Somehow, I found I could not look away.
She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
(Was it a girl at all?)
Hard to tell with her conflicted features.
She was no more than an inch below me,
a dark sweatshirt on her slim frame.
It could have wrapped around her twice.
The hood was up,
something I found odd in a bookstore
as she stalked the shelves.
Then again, I was odd too if I kept staring at her.

But she stared too.
Never as long as I did,
but she stared.
Part of me smiled in return,
turning away to browse the shelves shyly.
She watched my hands, watched my face,
sliding closer when I flipped through the pages of a comedy.

When she finally removed her hood,
I could barely keep my eyes off of her.
Pale, luminous.
Dark hair cropped short, bangs barely hanging in her eyes.
A pixie face with sharp, dark eyes that watched me intently.

Converse. Checkered and green.
My converse, as I glanced down at my own feet.
But I couldn't say anything as she brushed past me,
her hands sinking into her pocket as she moved on.

I stared after her.
And she stared back.