C90 The Begging of the Heart

The May wind was the softest, neither fast nor slow, neither hot nor cold.

Her skirt fluttered in the wind, and her sweater jacket was outlined by the street lamps. It was a combination of tension and relaxation with the night sky. It was not sharp at all.

It was as if she had torn a piece out of the night. It was uneven with the gaps, but it seemed poetic