Leaned up against a wall, patient and waiting. As if out of my day dreams and into this conscious world. A voice shivers through my spine. Hand in hand, an actual touch of living warmth. You’re perfectly untidy, tastefully messy. Above your right ear, the hair that you have allowed to grow out is beginning to curl naturally. Some impulsive, maternal instinct overcomes me and I find myself holding back the urge of touching those hairs, attempting to smooth them out and make them lay flat. You recite to me verses related to my t-shirt, your excitement races through your open mouth, your lips stumble, trying so hard to keep up with your memory. This whole scenario becomes somewhat endearing to me, strangely enough. You’re very interesting, hard to read, over all an educated mystery that I’d love to view every side, nook, and cranny that you’d be willing to share with me, even if it were only for a moment. Your appearance may attract some, but it is your heart, mind and vision that I admire. Arms and legs. Hands and fingers. Feet and toes. Cravings, mind, body, and soul.
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