She told me it was childish.
That it was something personal - a troubling concern that wasn't any of my concern, and then after hearing her out… through a series of long discomforting pauses, averted gazes, and a thinly-veiled front of nonchalance, I realized this was beyond being childish, this wasn't just personal… or even trouble.
This was simply downright adorable. Irene was adorable. She really, truly was, and I do not say a single syllable lightly. Seriously these were words I'd never thought I'd be stringing together in that precise order.
See, through these sometimes blurred, sometimes blind, not to mention stupid, blackened meat-lenses of mine, Irene was this esteemed individual held in the highest regard. This high-and-mighty icon I propped on this high-and-mighty pedestal.
And from way up there she was this unwavering figure of dignity and grace. The ice-cold beauty of pure auster and sosphication that operated on reasoning solely based off of logic and facts.
