With that little furrow between her eyes,
She brings out the disapproval
Of how the dress sits on her curves.
Oblivious to herself how wonderful she looks.
With that cheeky grin,
She teases him,
of all the other boys making a move on her.
Knowing full well, that she desires him.
The sneaky whispers,
She sets off an explosion of emotions.
whatever they may be,
He knows it's only his ears they are meant for.
The tantrums of deafening silence,
With eyes locked away,
and ears tuned to a frequency beyond reason.
They both know it is fear of what can and what may not be.
The look.
Oh. That look from across the room.
Occasionally accompanied with the faintest of smiles.
That's what makes the world turn, he concludes.
As they lie in each others arms,
In fatigued exhilaration from their passion.
Not a word but their souls glowing through the skin.
They've never felt so alive and exhausted and at peace so often.
With distance, they all struggle.
The doubts gather the storm.
The shadows brood.
But, the faith. Yes, the faith tends to prevail.
'Perfection', he says.
'Not so', she says.
Perhaps not entirely, they muse.
But anything this intense, must be doing something right, they accept.
---
A former teacher would always proclaim that 'Perfection is the enemy of a Good Job done'. Personally, I believe the concept of 'Perfection' in its entirety is a myth. After all, how would we be able to appreciate the good without having to experience the bad. And in that sense, every story is perfect in it's own little bubble-wrap shell. We are perfect with all our imperfections.
She brings out the disapproval
Of how the dress sits on her curves.
Oblivious to herself how wonderful she looks.
With that cheeky grin,
She teases him,
of all the other boys making a move on her.
Knowing full well, that she desires him.
The sneaky whispers,
She sets off an explosion of emotions.
whatever they may be,
He knows it's only his ears they are meant for.
The tantrums of deafening silence,
With eyes locked away,
and ears tuned to a frequency beyond reason.
They both know it is fear of what can and what may not be.
The look.
Oh. That look from across the room.
Occasionally accompanied with the faintest of smiles.
That's what makes the world turn, he concludes.
As they lie in each others arms,
In fatigued exhilaration from their passion.
Not a word but their souls glowing through the skin.
They've never felt so alive and exhausted and at peace so often.
With distance, they all struggle.
The doubts gather the storm.
The shadows brood.
But, the faith. Yes, the faith tends to prevail.
'Perfection', he says.
'Not so', she says.
Perhaps not entirely, they muse.
But anything this intense, must be doing something right, they accept.
---
A former teacher would always proclaim that 'Perfection is the enemy of a Good Job done'. Personally, I believe the concept of 'Perfection' in its entirety is a myth. After all, how would we be able to appreciate the good without having to experience the bad. And in that sense, every story is perfect in it's own little bubble-wrap shell. We are perfect with all our imperfections.
