A gem, the thing she knew was hers (but had never ached for any precious stones). Inhaled was the warm blue osmosis of those eyes. Then was a motion of peering, and knowing, but keeping demure all the while. Silly mini-deer that she was. Scribbling notes, decanting chords, clumsying moves, a lush chanson. The arch of the neck rolled in to the scarf that never came off. The kindness, from head to scuffed boot.