She sets her lips in a Hepburn way, with a tiny little smile that questions the day, of which kind of manner will dictate thought, will it be a glass of sherry or a lemon drop. She sounds just like an actor from a sixties script, practicing her lines in her bedroom unkempt, and if she had to guess about the time or day, she would bubble up with laughter, with no mirth relayed. For the truth of all semantics, she mimics, in reflections lost in gray, is she is still a little girl with a wound homemade. For no matter what pop psychology might do or say, her moods a haunted star breathing ghost in dismay. She twirls as a pixie in late afternoon, the mirror upon her wall bemoans the evening like a coming ruin. The future night brings to her a devils moon. What would Audrey say?
She wears her hair in a Hepburn way, the bangs at mid forehead, where they will not stray, as she twirls through her bedroom in a fake embrace. What would Bogie say, if he were here to sweep her terrors away? Perhaps, perhaps she whispers to the day, for the night cometh where Audrey cannot stay, where the cold, cold fusion of the hardness of man, and a step fathers cruelty with his sinister hands. If the parts of memory would disappear like the scars on her arms from forgotten years, and who’s to say she can’t disappear, under a devils moon. Find that Motorola tucked away in her room, and transport herself away. What would Audrey say?
Certain quotes with much liberty taken from Ms. Audrey Hepburn – 5-1-2018 –דָנִיֵּאל