Lucille, Oh, Lucille

She danced between raindrops, her toes tapping the soft ground ever so slightly to the faint piano music playing in her head.

The air, crisp and cold, yet beautiful. The Parisian sky a dark grey shade of blue, cloudy but clear.

She tapped and dance and moved her body through the thin streets, humming to herself the sweet piano tunes echoing in the area. In the sky. Everywhere she turned, it was there.

She soared through the cobblestones, step by step, her yellow skirt flowing in the wind.

Lucille.

She loved the way the rues were soft and quiet before dawn, the sun flickering slowly through the clouds. The sky was waking up. 

It was stretching its arms, falling back asleep, peacefully dreaming until it’s time to get up. 

With every step, every move, she was alive. She felt alive. 

The streets filled with strangers, her body swaying through the crowd, still walking to the beat of the notes, one by one, she leaps and flies. The streets are lined with vendors, each more beautiful than the next. Her favorite color yellow, not because of the sun but because of butter. The butter her mother used to put on her bread every morning, the salt, the sugar, the rhythm. 

Oh she loved those mornings.

She floats she flutters she flies through the streets, loving everything and everyone, Lucille. Her short brown hair, big brown eyes, soft pink lips, and skin as soft as butter. Oh, Lucille. How you knew she was a heart breaker. The song in her head playing for 22 years, never missing a beat, never missing a tune. Oh, Lucille how she loved. Loved with her whole dancing heart. Her light soul, her pure smile. Oh how she loved and they loved her back. Each and every single one of them loving her back. 

There was the kind one; the one with brown eyes and dirty blonde hair swept peacefully over the left of his face. He was so kind, she remembered. Always opening the door for her, pushing her chair in, bringing her yellow sunflowers. He was kind. Too kind for her.

She smiled graciously and said “au revoir”, the look on his face almost breaking her heart. Almost. She skipped through the streets once more, never missing a beat. 

There was the busy one; the one with short black hair, always wearing a green beret. A working man. A man of phew words but plenty activities, if you know what I mean. He made time for her, to take her shopping, please her, and then leave her. He pleased her a little too much. 

She smiled graciously and said “ciao”, the look on his face almost breaking her heart. Almost. She danced through the streets once more, never missing a note.

Then there was the mean one; the one she loved the most. The one who made her crazy, turned her yellow to green, adding the blue. The one who barely looked her in the eye while making love. The one she loved. He loved her too but in a desperate way. He wanted her, he needed her, just to occupy his time. But she knew she was better than that. She needed too much. She smiled graciously and said “adieu”, the look on her face breaking his heart. Almost.

She walked through the streets once more, nearly missing every beat. She held her chin high, still smiling, still poised. For twenty-two years she has lived twenty-two lives. The only way you would know her age is if you looked at her hands. Young and soft. Like butter. 

She’s held the world in them but never let it touch her skin.