prose

Marina

I think I have fallen in love with your face. Your shoulder length hair hangs in thick strands of gossamer gold, the same hue as your perfectly trimmed eyebrows. Yes, I have remembered it to the last detail. I can remember how high and proud you held yourself to the sky, your cheekbones slightly prominent and set; how dazzling that aquamarine Monroe piercing on the right side of your nose hinted at something new and mysterious.

I cannot help but think about your lips at this point. They are not full and thick like the mashed up celebrities; they are lighthearted and soft and supple. And when you flash that grin, you do not know how it makes me melt. But those eyes. You astound me with those tropical water blue eyes—wait, did they just shift to jade green? Your fleeting glance penetrates into the very core of my being and I can only avert my eyes to stop myself from gasping.

I am looking into the eyes of an innocent child who is filled with an undying curiosity and zest for life—stormy and unpredictable in every right. It disturbs me how profoundly and immensely you affect me so I continue to dig deeper in my mind to find out why. And then it hits me when I realize I was looking—at you—into my own soul.

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