purezero
10-31-2002, 09:36 PM
"My heart only belongs to you."
The soft and sharp handwriting lay light on a crisp, smooth sheet of paper. Clearly feminine. She picked up the paper she had just written upon and brought it to her lips. She gently pressed it to her and kissed it gently, like a slight and cool breath caressing heated skin. She inhales. Taking in the scent that was she, the scent that was her trademark. Then, with a swift and graceful flick of her wrist, she sent the sheet floating into the pile of the same paper, to join its brothers and sisters. Floating in the same quick pace, she sat back down into her suede recliner and lay back, staring at the clear, white ceiling of her loft, then out the skylight. She watched the clouds drift by. Her breath soft as each puff changed shape. The sky began to change from it's clear blue to the soft reds, she turned and looked at herself in the mirror with an almost dead look upon her face and in her eyes.
"Why can't I be perfect?" she wondered as she ran a slender and milky-white hand through her long, wavy chestnut tresses. Her full, naturally rose-colored lips curled at the corners into the utmost beautiful frown. Yet she only shared it with herself. Her unusual blue-green eyes stared back as she spends hours of everyday scrutinizing every single flaw her heavenly body possessed.
She was getting irritated. Standing up abruptly, slightly pushing her throne a few centimeters back, she fled into her bedroom and flung open her closet doors. Not one person has ever seen such a collection. A whole world of the most elegant clothing, the most chic ensembles created by man. And yet, man did not create these at all. These were works of her own. Her creations. Not anyone else's. Shuffling through ever coat hanger and rummaging through her vast medley of shoes, she slipped out of her white blouse and Capri's, out of her high-heeled sandals, and into a red silk cocktail dress and black stilettos that tied up around her calves. She slowly untied the white ribbon that strung through her glossy hair. Letting her hair down, gently swaying it back and forth, side to side, slowly.
"Tatoe donna ni kizutsuite mo. No matter how much we hurt each other." She exclaimed to herself perhaps in effort to reassure herself that everything is okay, or maybe to tell some wandering spirit that she is determined, who would take pity on her and send her some fortune.
This change was made apparent as she picked up her favorite black mascara and ran them through her already long lashes. As her eyes went from a natural and clean color into a darker, dramatic frame. Her eyes screamed out in contrast to the dark eye makeup. She stared at herself in the mirror again. Making a slow turn around, running her hands over her shoulders, along her chest, down her waist, over her hips, and along her limber legs.
Picking up her black bag, her tiny, silver cellphone, and her car keys, she sped out the door, slid into her black BMW M3, revving up the engine and speeding down the block and into the busy city.
The club was already steaming by the time she got there. Hundreds of bodies swaying to the thundering rhythm. It was hot. A bead of sweat ran down her back while another down her front, over her taut abdomen, as she slowly scanned the crowd of gyrating bodies. Taking notice of the young teenyboppers weaving orbs of spinning light, the wallflowers nodding their heads to the beat, the perverts watching the scantily-clad, plastic goddesses, and the lovers intimately grinding their hips together on the dance floor as if they were the only ones in the room. She felt the urge to dance; the music was magnetic, pulling on her lean body. The only thing was, she did not feel like doing it alone. It just was not as satisfying. She needed a partner. A tall one, with dark, smoldering eyes, as obscure as the night. Eyes that she could lose herself in as well. That is all she wanted. To get lost. To forget.
Yet there he was. Standing by the bar. Sipping something a toxic blue. "What was he doing here?" she thought. The question she should have been asking herself is "What am I doing here?" This really was not her crowd of people. But the music unites everything, everyone together. There is no pain in the music. She stood there like a gazelle confused, not knowing whether to run away or stay. He turned around, and caught her eye. She was stuck. A devilish grin spread across his lips. He killed his drink and strode over, sliding his hand around her thin waist, pulling her close. She could smell the alcohol on his hot breath. Something dangerous glinted in his eyes. She tried to fight her way away, but he held her stare and she could do no where. He led her onto the dance floor and that is where it all began.
The close proximity overwhelmed her. The music overtook her. It flowed in and out of her delicate body. Her mind was in a whirlwind of rapture. The vibrations from the music shook her body, caressing her into bliss. It was exhilarating. And there he was. Right there, right next to her. Moving to the same rhythm. They danced furiously. It was a chase, an affair, an encounter. They countered each other's steps, each other's movements, each other's mere glances, the slightest touch. Touché.
And so she ran. Ran as fast as her high-heeled shoes could take her. She falls. Takes off her shoes, and continues running. Does he follow? No. He would never. Not for her. She knew that it was dangerous and yet she wanted to taste it. She wanted to push it. It was all about what she wanted. But is it really what she needed?
Hastily speeding away in her sleek getaway car, she pulled out a chilled water bottle and took a sip of the contents inside. The cool liquid tenderly rolled over her tongue and over the rest of her mouth. She pulled over to a parking lot of a near by beach and leaned back into her seat, lounging. She sighs. Switching her stereo on, she closed her eyes and listened to the hum of her engine and the booming of her speakers.
"For better or worse, I will still choose you first."
The soft and sharp handwriting lay light on a crisp, smooth sheet of paper. Clearly feminine. She picked up the paper she had just written upon and brought it to her lips. She gently pressed it to her and kissed it gently, like a slight and cool breath caressing heated skin. She inhales. Taking in the scent that was she, the scent that was her trademark. Then, with a swift and graceful flick of her wrist, she sent the sheet floating into the pile of the same paper, to join its brothers and sisters. Floating in the same quick pace, she sat back down into her suede recliner and lay back, staring at the clear, white ceiling of her loft, then out the skylight. She watched the clouds drift by. Her breath soft as each puff changed shape. The sky began to change from it's clear blue to the soft reds, she turned and looked at herself in the mirror with an almost dead look upon her face and in her eyes.
"Why can't I be perfect?" she wondered as she ran a slender and milky-white hand through her long, wavy chestnut tresses. Her full, naturally rose-colored lips curled at the corners into the utmost beautiful frown. Yet she only shared it with herself. Her unusual blue-green eyes stared back as she spends hours of everyday scrutinizing every single flaw her heavenly body possessed.
She was getting irritated. Standing up abruptly, slightly pushing her throne a few centimeters back, she fled into her bedroom and flung open her closet doors. Not one person has ever seen such a collection. A whole world of the most elegant clothing, the most chic ensembles created by man. And yet, man did not create these at all. These were works of her own. Her creations. Not anyone else's. Shuffling through ever coat hanger and rummaging through her vast medley of shoes, she slipped out of her white blouse and Capri's, out of her high-heeled sandals, and into a red silk cocktail dress and black stilettos that tied up around her calves. She slowly untied the white ribbon that strung through her glossy hair. Letting her hair down, gently swaying it back and forth, side to side, slowly.
"Tatoe donna ni kizutsuite mo. No matter how much we hurt each other." She exclaimed to herself perhaps in effort to reassure herself that everything is okay, or maybe to tell some wandering spirit that she is determined, who would take pity on her and send her some fortune.
This change was made apparent as she picked up her favorite black mascara and ran them through her already long lashes. As her eyes went from a natural and clean color into a darker, dramatic frame. Her eyes screamed out in contrast to the dark eye makeup. She stared at herself in the mirror again. Making a slow turn around, running her hands over her shoulders, along her chest, down her waist, over her hips, and along her limber legs.
Picking up her black bag, her tiny, silver cellphone, and her car keys, she sped out the door, slid into her black BMW M3, revving up the engine and speeding down the block and into the busy city.
The club was already steaming by the time she got there. Hundreds of bodies swaying to the thundering rhythm. It was hot. A bead of sweat ran down her back while another down her front, over her taut abdomen, as she slowly scanned the crowd of gyrating bodies. Taking notice of the young teenyboppers weaving orbs of spinning light, the wallflowers nodding their heads to the beat, the perverts watching the scantily-clad, plastic goddesses, and the lovers intimately grinding their hips together on the dance floor as if they were the only ones in the room. She felt the urge to dance; the music was magnetic, pulling on her lean body. The only thing was, she did not feel like doing it alone. It just was not as satisfying. She needed a partner. A tall one, with dark, smoldering eyes, as obscure as the night. Eyes that she could lose herself in as well. That is all she wanted. To get lost. To forget.
Yet there he was. Standing by the bar. Sipping something a toxic blue. "What was he doing here?" she thought. The question she should have been asking herself is "What am I doing here?" This really was not her crowd of people. But the music unites everything, everyone together. There is no pain in the music. She stood there like a gazelle confused, not knowing whether to run away or stay. He turned around, and caught her eye. She was stuck. A devilish grin spread across his lips. He killed his drink and strode over, sliding his hand around her thin waist, pulling her close. She could smell the alcohol on his hot breath. Something dangerous glinted in his eyes. She tried to fight her way away, but he held her stare and she could do no where. He led her onto the dance floor and that is where it all began.
The close proximity overwhelmed her. The music overtook her. It flowed in and out of her delicate body. Her mind was in a whirlwind of rapture. The vibrations from the music shook her body, caressing her into bliss. It was exhilarating. And there he was. Right there, right next to her. Moving to the same rhythm. They danced furiously. It was a chase, an affair, an encounter. They countered each other's steps, each other's movements, each other's mere glances, the slightest touch. Touché.
And so she ran. Ran as fast as her high-heeled shoes could take her. She falls. Takes off her shoes, and continues running. Does he follow? No. He would never. Not for her. She knew that it was dangerous and yet she wanted to taste it. She wanted to push it. It was all about what she wanted. But is it really what she needed?
Hastily speeding away in her sleek getaway car, she pulled out a chilled water bottle and took a sip of the contents inside. The cool liquid tenderly rolled over her tongue and over the rest of her mouth. She pulled over to a parking lot of a near by beach and leaned back into her seat, lounging. She sighs. Switching her stereo on, she closed her eyes and listened to the hum of her engine and the booming of her speakers.
"For better or worse, I will still choose you first."