She was beautiful and innocent,
She would wear plain, shapeless dresses, but on her
They looked like summer rain on the canna lilies.
She turned 18 in 1997.
On a rainy day, when I was even younger than her,
We went to a bookstore.
Timber trestle tables were set up, and cheap books were spreadacross them
All in a jumbled pile.
She picked up a book on actors of the 20th century
And took it to the old man at the cash register and bought it.
At nights, she would read the book to me
Telling me the life stories of these actors and the movies they were in.
These people were so far removed from our lives
But they seemed so glamorous.
She would tell me one day she’d go to Hollywood and see where these people live,
See their mansions.
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