She peers. It's beyond just looking. You can tell that she sees something you don't. Did you pass it by and not notice, or did it appear after you were there? Either way, she sees it and you didn't, so you're curious, timid even. You go back and silently try to discern what has caught her attention. To no avail. Without a word she turns and walks by.
It scorches when turned your way, that look, for there is something that you've hidden or forgotten or ignored. But she can see it. Your response is visceral. It pummels and churns its way further inside and ultimately leaves you bereft, for you did not or cannot see what she did.
Yet you are oddly enamored of that penetrating, searching, yearning look. It speaks to you of a desire to fully understand where we fit, how we join our simplest nature to the rest of the world. It eschews both falsity and convention, delving ever deeper into the very essence of the thing, without preconceived notion, until it elicits the truth. That truth is what you fear and that look can strip you of all that you believe, all that you trust, all that you think you know. The cliff's edge she has brought you to delineates your here and now and what you might be. Softly, softly. Draw close. Release is your desire.
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