November 4, 2016

 The bell rings and I stretch my legs as I exit the room. I trudge towards my next class, lazily examining the nearly empty bulletin boards that line the hall. Then I see her. My eyes are glued to her. She’s wearing a wrinkled, baggy tee-shirt brandishing the logo of an underground post-punk band. The dark colors and themes draw my attention from down the hall. Her hair is bleached but shows no signs of brittleness. It’s long and wavy, not too straight and not too curly. Her face is slightly rounded with large blue eyes. Atop her nose sit a pair of thick, black glasses with dense lenses that only make her eyes that much fuller. Staring into them reminds me of a warm beach, the calm kind that you see on desktop backgrounds, the kind that you know doesn’t exist but hope to see one day despite that. Her lips are soft and glossy. She bites her lower lip as she listens to her friend recite the details of her weekend. My heart melts because she’s a beautiful person, beautiful in the way that the moon is. It’s surface is bright and filled with craters. Some would think the craters would detract from its mystifying appearance but the imperfections serve only to make it all the more alluring. She’s beautiful because every aspect of her appearance culminates to create a figure filled with grace and dignity. She passes me, I continue with my day. I know I’ll see her in the same place at the same time tomorrow. I will never talk to her and that’s okay. She is who she is in my mind and that makes me happy.

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