For those who have asked me to write more "situations" and the others who just want something approaching light porn, this is for you.
I bumped into her in a crowd. Honestly I didn't know she'd be there. I had no idea. It took me an eternity to register her. What's it called when you do three double takes? Her mouth moved. A brief flash of perfect teeth through deep pink lips.
"Hello!"
Cheerful, even saying so little. Her eyes squint as she smiles.
"Hi." Awestruck.
She looks down, smiling, and with her weight on one foot, twists the toes of the other foot lightly into the ground. She peers up from under her fringe.
The crowd isn't there anymore. People don't bump into us, they slide around as if we're no longer here; as if we've slipped out of that universe and into our private one. It's quiet. Only her words, her mouth, her hair failling above her eyes. Youthful happiness. 23 but forever 17.
Idle chatter. She's shopping. I have no idea why; she looks perfect in a plain white t-shirt, or an oversized hoodie, buried into a couch watching a movie. Anything else just takes from her her-ness.
We talk about nothing. The kind of things you say to someone intimate. The conversation would make no sense to an observer; the laughter, the mock offence, the occasional smirk, all tied up in an artist's palette of words.
Too soon we must part. Our goodbyes are full of last minute things that have to be said. There is too much familiarity for a real parting.
And then she turns to leave. Saunters away. I can still see her weaving, but I don't see the crowd. Only her, a single bright balloon drifting into the sky.
I have completely forgotten where I'm going.
I bumped into her in a crowd. Honestly I didn't know she'd be there. I had no idea. It took me an eternity to register her. What's it called when you do three double takes? Her mouth moved. A brief flash of perfect teeth through deep pink lips.
"Hello!"
Cheerful, even saying so little. Her eyes squint as she smiles.
"Hi." Awestruck.
She looks down, smiling, and with her weight on one foot, twists the toes of the other foot lightly into the ground. She peers up from under her fringe.
The crowd isn't there anymore. People don't bump into us, they slide around as if we're no longer here; as if we've slipped out of that universe and into our private one. It's quiet. Only her words, her mouth, her hair failling above her eyes. Youthful happiness. 23 but forever 17.
Idle chatter. She's shopping. I have no idea why; she looks perfect in a plain white t-shirt, or an oversized hoodie, buried into a couch watching a movie. Anything else just takes from her her-ness.
We talk about nothing. The kind of things you say to someone intimate. The conversation would make no sense to an observer; the laughter, the mock offence, the occasional smirk, all tied up in an artist's palette of words.
Too soon we must part. Our goodbyes are full of last minute things that have to be said. There is too much familiarity for a real parting.
And then she turns to leave. Saunters away. I can still see her weaving, but I don't see the crowd. Only her, a single bright balloon drifting into the sky.
I have completely forgotten where I'm going.
