there is an elf on the staircase; what could she be looking at? she’s peering over something on the wall – a poster, maybe? her hair is BLONDE blonde, and light in weight by the looks of it; wispy thin, i think, but she is gone now, and i am too tired to walk to the poster (or whatever it happened to be) – much too tired to take even a passing glance.
so i leave it be and i am somewhat satisfied with my decision.
a wave of exhaustion washes over me, and i see myself yawning the way other people do; quietly, silently, all too ashamed – i cover my mouth so people can’t see, and smile to myself afterwards.
the anceint greeks thought ill of smiling because they believed it distorted the face. it pulls the muscles in all the wrong directions and after a while, it just looks silly or strained.