, her mouth
, her features. All that pokes out of the blanket is her face -- expressionless. Every now and then, she rolls over or scoots a little bit closer, puts her hand
on my side -- her hot little hand. I can't sleep
next to her, there's just something about sleep
ing so near to someone that means so much to you. Someone that you think is so beautiful
that you can't close your eyes, not willingly. So I always lie awake, pretending
to be asleep, so she can fall into her tiny coma
. When she sleeps -- she for serious falls into her own little coma. While I've only known her for a short time, she seems like all I've ever known. Eventually, I slip into unconciousness
, but I'm always the first to rise
. I lie silent, and I watch. I wait untill the time says that I'm allowed to try to wake her. There's just something about that person
, that person you know in your heart as being the object of your affection -- there's something about seeing that person rise, and knowing you're the first thing that person sees..
I lie silent. The imminent threat of responsibility and reality lurk. I lie silent -- watch her undress. I watch as she daintily pulls her hands through her hair. She hates waking up, so she'll take any opportunity to try to go back to sleep. If I let my guard down, and fall asleep, I'll wake up with her next to me, and it will be much harder to get her moving. She gathers her health and beauty accessories, and embarks on a showery morning adventure. Nothing is ever more exciting than watching her form -- moving about the room, doing the normal things she should be doing. I lie silent, and only watch as she re-enters the room.
"What?" she asks, as if she's doing something wrong. I say nothing, because nothing is wrong. There goes a certain process of her getting ready for work, for school, for the day ahead: Lotion on the arms, legs, and the beautiful tatoo on her thigh -- deoderant on the under-arms, possibly a spritz of perfume, pull back the hair, but no make-up, no lipstick. She doesn't wear makup, but accessories galore. Earrings, and a necklace, but they've got to match. So she fumbles with compairing the right earrings with the right necklace (she is so proud she can wear a necklace now that her neck peircing has healed), but once she finds the right earrings/necklace, the shirt that she's laid out is all wrong... this might go on for ten or fifteen minutes.
Sexy, is something people with her beauty don't have to try to be.
She slips into her undergarments. On fall her clothes. "It's time to go, honey."
*sigh* -- So it is.