post-relational musings; quickly jotted down in a scrap of paper upon feeling the sudden need to document my desire to be a particular sort of woman. now a thing of the past.
she walked quickly when she was with him. it was never to keep up—no, he was an ambler, not a strider. but under the thick gaze of his hooded eyes and the well-waxed tufts of his black hair she felt a quickening of the soul that loosened her legs to spring forward. they weren’t long, nor were they particularly pleasant to look at, but she liked to think that the speed lengthened them and straightened her shoulders.
it made her feel taller.
she hardened her eyes and overlooked everything around her as she walked. she wanted it suddenly, to be biting, to be fierce. she wanted to buy tight skirts and smack red lips condescendingly. under the thick, languid gaze of his hooded eyes, she became a fighter, and the assured movements of her tightly drawn back was her shield. he ambled, and she strode, staying always just
a little ahead of him.
she needed that, to feel like she was somebody, because most of the time
under the thick, languid gaze of his hooded eyes,
until he grabbed at her with a low smile and strained at her with his pristine brows, the ones he trimmed weekly before the dimly lit sink mirror. “wait up.”
and upon feeling this straining, she worked the fleshy insides of her cheeks between her teeth, made eyes at him. but she slowed down. the fluttering in her legs subsided, and she rubbed the redness of her lips away on his cheek.