Just How Beautiful 

He was sinking or otherwise but he woke up and she walked in. She looked lazily around for her chair her friend, beside her. Her eyes sexy and expressive, blinking marvellously in a comic fashion, a clownish smile playing on her lips. The coyness and the explicit manifestation of her intelligence. Was it his exaggeration or his hesitant mind’s failure to adjust. God, a lot of things become really beautiful when you actually look. For more than months he had been seeing her around, but the only thing he thought they shared was the space they existed, in different circumstances.

Now he shared the space in his mind with her highly expressive beauty. Was he doubting, or rather questioning the contribution of his perception and his imagination before, or was he just being prodded by some strange ideas that just floated looking for an empty mind to perch. He did not believe so. Wanted to but did not. Was he being tugged away from himself and he was vulnerable as to allow being jostled away from his senses and he enjoyed the sensation of falling? Was it the illicit waft of the orange flower water she sprinkled on herself that he needed for a sniff. Who knows how many ideas choreographed a campaign against his initial state to a later state that, it was hard to tell whether he needed a discovery of new saints or he was good for the resurrection of the ancient to understand whether he was right or wrong to see. Was he just a rehearsing dog?

His nerves, his hopes, his thoughts and his whole being had subscribed in essence to the perfection of what he could see. He had heard people gossip but he was reluctant to join. It was like seeking the stars but watching from below. Nothing good would ever come off it. And chiming into peoples conversations has its disadvantages. Now he stepped into the ring positively, high of spirit and was gossiping in his head carelessly. Maybe he was carefully careless after all. Anyway who would have had the expertise to dissect his mind and realise he was completely immersed in the subjects beauty. After all he was more perceptive than he ever received credit for it. In the pool of his colleagues, he heard his name but he ignored. For the effectiveness of his brain was fully tailored into the matter he thought better appreciated at hand. Indeed God was flooded with time at her creation. Possibly she was made in a site separate from the others. Which then presents the question of fairness and equality in the time of creation. And the answer remains a fertile area to exploit. 

Her hair, rolled in braids and allowed to fall back on her neck, two or more strands to the sides that she pushed back at different intervals but seemed okay, perhaps it was a question of vision. And the very tip of the braids fanned in the cold morning breeze that swept in through the open door. Her walking style was something to describe with effort, for the most important things are the hardest to say, it was the hardest to describe for its rarity. Common things are umm okay, easy to describe, it’s much easier to find what suits commonality. 

Within the confines of truth, the fascination from her beauty made every other person of her gender a mere pretence. She was the kind, you could pick from a pool of surging heads. Her attire was simple and cosy and that made her the more amazing to look. He studied her cautiously and paraded her in his mind in her own space, for it would have been unfair to have another person juxtaposed against her for a modest comparison. She was human, made to satisfactory. Sitting there, to him he was closer to his northern star. And her lasting appeal made him willing and able to keep looking. It was like staring from a window down to the low buildings and the neat flowerd garden that spread around. A beautiful view. It was tempting to wonder, that someone else was seeing her the same way he was. A tint of jealousy. 

On a more serious and extremely extensive end he wondered what her lips tasted, there is no love sincere than the love of food. Was she more than the staple of the Victorian British working class, a crunchy-outside, soft-inside dish of simple, unadorned fundamentals; fish and chips. Thought not, or was it a near miss of divisive but irresistible buttered toast with marmite maybe. And perhaps the best sweetest treat, honey in a honeycomb was underneath her silken and only an invitation to a private buffet would tell. Bon Appetit, powerful and complex, without aroma but with the innate pure essence of expensive taste. A feast that left an oily mouthed-coating texture a mark of a perfect food, yum and the yuck factor, a legendary divine taste, just delicious.

Watching her was a kin to spending in the forest waiting for the final dredging of the lake watching it fill, inch by inch when the stream was near dryness. It required patience and dedication and not a question of pleasure and frustration. It was as though she would never fill the space he reserved in his head for her beautiful glow. His admiration for her was something no experience and emerging discoveries could explain. Indeed she was no cheap imitation of creation.

It wasn’t just what he could see. There was just some goodness in her, something in her whole self that ignited a feeling of twitchings, almost to the measure of joyous leapings. And a reason to go on living. God, how he wanted to be part of it. It was a feeling he associated with loosening the screws of the difficulty of this world and the hardness of life. And for some reason he had grown into a whale swimming blindly in his inner reflective thoughts to throw himself upon her shore.

Unsurprisingly reality at heart is hard to brush aside, the beauty of a woman can be so fascinating and yes she was brilliant. Her smile warm and real her face was radiant. Everything about her was inexplicably stunning, mesmerising perhaps. She was utterly perfect.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: