The Hug

Caitlin Leishman: 2020 Pencil and pen on paper

Flakes of red get caught in the deep ravines of her upper lip as her shaky hands ritualistically drive a bullet of lipstick across them. A carriage over cobblestones. The wings of her eyeliner, still elegant, are a touch wonky these days, distorted by the wrinkled folds of eyelids that have slowly begun to encroach upon her view of the world. A potent fragrance dabbed, warns of an imminent and overzealous embrace to be bestowed upon them–which they must, if begrudgingly, accept. It’s a scent that for the first twenty years of their lives they will associate with love-tinted tedium. For the next twenty and beyond, halted by the smell of a passer-by or the warmth of a knit, in the absence of the hug itself, will be unparalleled nostalgia.