The street lights reflected on the water and the cold waves got between our naked toes.
We have been standing there for not so long. You could clearly tell that she was smoking red Marlboro, since the stubs at our feet had red lipstick stamps at the end of them. I prefer the blue Lucky Strike, it has an ironic name if you thing about it. Every day is a lucky strike for a smoker still alive.
The wind was playing with her long brown hair, making the ends dance like leaves in the air. I could also smell her cheap perfume which had a rich fragrance. Her eyes were swollen and her black mascara was no longer on her eyelashes, but under her eyes, flowing down her cheekbones like a river.
She was the most interesting person in my life. Actually, she was the only person in my life. No one else really mattered. A few things about her: she hates cold coffee, her neighbors and waking up early. She loves books, the rain,autumn and is obsessed with vintage things, hands and The Smiths. She’s pretty good at making new friends and is awful at math. She has two left feet and a very strong opinion about everything – even highlighters and coins. She had a new, pointless problem every week, but they somehow made sense.
’’ This week, I am struggling with self doubt and the transition from iced coffee to hot coffee ’’ – was one of my favorite sentences that left her soft lips. I had to bite my lips to keep a straight face, though I really wanted to bite hers.
One time we got really wasted and she said : ’’ No one has ever told me that I look desirable with the lights on. ’’ and my only reply was ’’ well you make my pulse accelerate. ’’ I felt like I was the smoothest man on the planet, but as I said before, we were wasted, so I really fucked it up by leaning into her face and asking her to break my nose cause’ it was scratchy.
We’ve been standing there for a while now. You could clearly tell because the stubs were piling up. She finally looked at me with her whole face and body. I loved how she never looked nice, but she looked like art. And art was not supposed to look nice, it was supposed to make you feel something. And she sure did. I felt it. From my ears through my veins in my knees even in the bottom of my feet.
’’ You know that I protect my pride ’’ – she mumbled under her blood red lips – ’’ but I am too bruised to fight. ’’
She was quoting from songs like the water was falling from the Niagara, constantly. And I had no problems with that. I did the same.
’’ Makes me wanna surrender and wrap you in my arm. ’’ – I turned to her. My white collar was peaking out of my coat, with a pink lipstick stain on them. Those weren’t hers. She never wore pink. We were gazing into each others eyes. I, mesmerised , but she just couldn’t recognize me.
’’ Somebodies goodnight kisses got it covered. ’’ – and she walked away, leaving me and her black shoes at the shore.
plain nudity 