She was feline in aspect and dealt with others the way a kitten deals with a ball of wool. She carried a lighter load; you could tell by her easy smile and the crystal clarity of those baby blue eyes that nothing had troubled her in all her twenty something summers.
Her nature shielded her from pain and sorrow; empathy was not her strong suit - the feelings of others were merely mirrors which sustained her lightly worn vanity. She possessed a certainty that can only be born of ignorance. I could call it naivety, but it was too blunt an instrument and much too dangerous to be that. Everything about her seemed vague enough to be true. Hers was a personal mythology of blithe innocence and the carnage she sowed in her wake was merely collateral damage – she was always true to her childlike selfishness.
All her angles were obtuse, but they were unerring; she got what she wanted by default and no man could deny her. So I fell into her orbit like a shooting star – to blaze for a while before falling to Earth to land among the flotsam of discarded lovers and sometime friends. She’s long forgotten me but I still remember her scent on my bedclothes – vanilla sweet with a hint of belladonna.