Her

You know the one thing I can't seem to get out of my head? That one image that sums up the whole awesome totality of Thanksgiving night? Her back. Her naked back, silhouetted lightly by the screen of her laptop. Laying on her right side, facing away from me towards her couch where said laptop rested. Her hair pulled back, tickling my face when I dared get too close. Her exposed shoulder running gently down her arm draped across her chest.That amazing downward slope of her back into that valley between a woman's ribs and her ass that seems to haunt my dreams day and night ever since I first laid eyes on it. There was never enough light to take in the sight of how her skin had been pulled against her hips or how beautiful it must have been rising back up over her hips and down her legs. I struggled and cursed my eyes for not adjusting to the light enough to make out her spine and shoulder blades. Just a little more light. Just a little more. Sigh...

It's never enough words. It's just never enough words to truly say just what I feel. And when there will be enough words, she would never listen to them anyways.

I make these decisions. I hurt people. I feel in love with someone else. I'm going to make a life with her. But I'm scared to make this move. I'm worried about money. I live so far away. But I will deal with it. Being near her is worth it. More than worth it.

She is simply amazing. The most beautiful soul. The most wonderful smile. The sexiest confidence. The happiest laugh. She warms my insides. Satisfies me like no other. Her soft skin. Her brown eyes. Her sweet smell. The way she holds me and promises me everything will be ok. She eases me. Completes me. Fill spaces I didn't even know that I had. All I think about is Her. All day. Everyday. I can't wait until I can see her again. I hope I make it.

she is beautiful, every part long-considered, a specific vision of some kind of perfection. perfect proportions, perfect hair, perfect outfit. even the sprinkle of freckles, the pointed ears, inhuman colours of hair and eyes, are simply touches of the exotic to flavour the whole.

she is sexy and confident, she is wry and amusing, popular and loved even among the depraved denizens of that seedy underworld. she is outrageous, she is forward, she knows exactly what she wants and how she wants it and she knows she can have it any time. she has a reputation that precedes her, denigrated by some and envied by others.

she is not me. she is not real. but I who have created her, I who slip into her shoes on occasion and play her life a while, I see so much that I want, that I could be. and since we began, she has subtly informed me. I can see what she would do, and sometimes I follow her fearless lead.

life imitates art. hers is sweet and dangerous, and I relish every drop that seeps into mine.

we stumbled and found each other

here's to imperfection