She

I meet her at the bar. She's here for a visit. For a while, she says. I look at her, trying to read her. She is beautiful and her mind a gem. When she talks, her voice exudes confidence. There are glitters in her eyes as her smile melts whatever is in the way. But, most of all, inside her resides that mysterious ferocity. Ferocity for life or for want of life. Or ferocity for want of living life. I can easily fall but past lessons teach me well: I have a bad karma when it comes this situation. A scratch of wound through my heart would unnecessarily dramatize the situation. I am only flirting with my past regrets now. Oh, well...