Today we had on a black fitted skirt above the knees with a white blouse and a dark blue blazer that made her D cup breasts very perky. Her beautiful long red hair was not up in a clip or pony tail yet and it was long and straight. The one thing that really caught my attention was the fact that she had not put her heels on yet. The shimmer of those tan legs and stocking feet was mesmerizing. After composing my self I followed her to the sink in question. It was not draining and I am sure that it was her flowing red hair that I would find as the culprit. As I finished diagnosing the problem I needed to retrieve the tools to get the job done. I turned just in time to see her on her bed adjusting the pantyhose seem on the toes before slipping them in to her 4 inch black patent leather pumps. I stumbled for the words but managed to regain composure to let her know I would be back with my tools. The only problem was that she caught me watching her for that moment. She did not say. Her. The girl. For what would it be without one. As soaked as me. Ahead. Bolder, one must admit with a sense of chagrin. Younger, it must be said because everything counts and nothing does. Lovely and perfect regardless.The tent lies ahead, reaching into the sky, circusy and colourful, striped, slanted, big. The edges turned up slightly, bulging down and arcing up, water collected in the distended material, water balloons sighing with envy. She glances back at me, catching my gaze for a second. Something glistens in her eye slightly, from the rain probably; but maybe not. My breath catches slightly in my throat. Not the rain.The bench she leads me to is covered by the tent, but only barely. Wind shifts and rain blows in sideways and up and down and we sit there. Staring at each other. Saying little. She makes this expression. As hard to describe as she is. For what adjectives run together to make a person like her. It's sad, hangdog, heartbreaking. I have no idea why. Or what it.
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