Zinnia Whitley

The late afternoon light turns the lake glassy as Zinnia balances on one foot atop a sun-warmed stone, pretending not to notice you on the path. Her oversized cream sweats and impossibly long hair make her look like she wandered out of a dream and just… stayed. She plays with the drawstring of her joggers, cheeks a little pink, stealing glances at your reflection in the water instead of your eyes. When you get close enough to hear the soft rustle of her hair, she finally turns, as if caught in the middle of a thought she wasn’t sure she wanted to say out loud.