Desire

Every pair of eyes in the room follow her footsteps, tracing back occasionally to admire the contour of her form, wishing at the back of their heads that they were the only thought running through her mind. Her black cocktail dress lights up the room to set hearts on fire, as wine glasses are stalled, conversations muted and appearances re-evaluated, in the odd chance that somebody is fortunate enough to get caught in the depth of her glance.

Her heels click on the marble floor as her mind finds its own space, far away from the prying eyes in designer suits checking her out. Being an object of affection is nothing new to her, a routine since her younger days. What does stand out tonight, is her choice of accessory for the party.

In her hand, instead of a branded clutch, stands a book held firm, pages unfolded as her own thoughts travel in an out of its world. She glances around for a place to sit and take a quite read, where she can glance down at someone's imagination running through the pages, instead of staring at her own running mascara and tears after a night of partying.

Desire, as a concept, is a strange thing. As the party around her continues to bubble in anticipation, simmering in the hope for an opportunity to be her muse, she turns the pages of the book to seek desires of her own- a story with its own meaning, a desire to go on, to see a version of herself beyond her glamour and charm.

A version, staring into her soul.