Iqra

The old man remembered you. He gave me the second dozen at your price, the ridiculous one you used to get by pretending to walk away. I did my own henna and it came out crooked, a vine that forgot where it was going. I wore it anyway. It is strange how a night can be so full of people and still have one empty space exactly your shape. Eid Mubarak, wherever you are celebrating now. I hope someone is holding your wrist steady while it dries.