BY RACHELL PAK
At the Musée d’Orsay in Paris, he is wandering through the maze of rooms,
With nothing but time in his hands and the ticket in his pocket.
There’s a little boy pacing back and forth, panicked because he’s lost,
There’s a large group of tourists with their fluorescent attire and flashy cameras,
There’s an aged couple quietly perusing the artworks hand-in-hand as if walking back in time,
Suddenly, he feels an overwhelming presence,
He sees her.
He wants to touch her, but it’s proper etiquette not to,
He wants to know more, but her frozen lips won’t move,
He wants to come closer, but two feet away will have to do,
After all, he’s just an observer of a beautiful girl,
But she is a painting living in her immobile world.