A fallen eyelash

A glass of water at Old Blackfriars caught Mr. Nothing’s thoughts,
while the poet’s playful banter charmed a jasmine gaze on the other side
of the table. It was the taste of the water, somewhat salty with some sip,
that reminded him of reckless words he had spoken many years ago,
that eventually got him to where he was now, annoying the bartender.
And then a figure like him appeared, with no roots in the granite
cobblestones, reached up to his cheek for a fallen eyelash and said,
“Make a wish and blow.”

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