A short descriptive piece I wrote at a writing workshop today.
Her footsteps draw closer, brittle autumn leaves break beneath her as she wanders, stopping at each new address, her own more temporary than any of ours. Her shadow lands on my doorstep, silhouetting her curves as her saddened eyes come closer. Her fingertips trail the inscriptions on my door as I feel my existence confirmed by her touch. I would like to meet her, but I haven't the words and she hasn't the time.
Footsteps, again they begin as I ache for her touch, now drawing further away. I hear her tears fall on the fresh ground beneath her, and I wish those tears were for me. I reach out to her; she looks away. She moves on, leaving nothing but flowers and a hollow memory of footsteps that were never meant for me.