She had an elegant habit of breathing
out words like cigarette smoke, each syllable scattering before
they had the chance to connect into comprehensive phrases. There
were i-n-g’s and “are”s in confusingly
inappropriate contexts, and nearly every sentence had a tendency
to shift into french before they even slipped halfway out of her
dark lipstick-stained lips. Although, surprisingly, considering
her incredible passion for travel, not one tip of her stiletto
heels had ever come into contact with French soil. You’d be
able to tell her personality as soon as you heard her speak. And,
please, don’t let her “darling”s and beautiful,
melodious voice fool you into believing that she’ll stay
with you forever, because I can guarantee that she’ll be
planning a new adventure with every breath she takes. An
adventure that you won’t be a part of.
Despite the considerable droop
underneath her eyes, and the spontaneous adaptations in her mood,
she was flawless. Whether it be six in the morning or half past
twilight in the evening, each stitch of her dress managed to rest
calmly on her deeply tanned skin, and the wind was never strong
enough to blow her voluminous coffee colored hair out of place.
She carried herself in a way that conveyed confidence without
being overbearing and unapproachable. In fact, it was difficult
for her to walk down the busy streets of Manhattan without being
stopped once, or twice, or six times. Occasionally, desperate men
follow her wide-brimmed hats all the way back to her apartment.
These are the times when she feels the most
alone.
"She's
a puzzle, but she's worth solving." -
r.m.