VI. Girls Like Her
"Holy Jesus fuck!", she breathes.
I glance over at her.
She has lived here her entire life. She's watched this sun set behind the Pacific Ocean every afternoon. Or any afternoon that she bothered to look up and notice anyway. But, still the fiery pastels of dusk impressed her, so much so that she muttered blasphemous curses. She was skin and lips and things I shouldn't think.
I liked her for reasons such as these. Also, she said "fuck" a lot and she peed with the door open.
We sat on the sand and watched the sun and the ocean collide. Spectrums shattered, tinting the low hanging clouds pink. California paints her sky even in mid-October. There are no tourists to acknowledge the routine display of bragaddocio.
But the girl appreciates it. She curls her toes into the sand and shivers against the salty breeze. I'm pleased by the way her nipples push against her shirt. I wish they all could be California girls.
"Fanny packs were cool"
She's wrong but she knows it and she's just feeling nostalgic anyway. Ocean waves and skateboard trucks grinding and slapping the cement. Hushed roar of the freeway and Brian Wilson's melancholy croon, leaking from staticy car speakers. These were the noises of her years, the soundtrack of the way she'd lived.
She's got a casual way about her, lying gorgeous and naked, moon revealed on the sand. I'm still throbbing from the way she let me touch her. She was the New Romance with the sweet way of breaking every promise that she never should have made. Just like every Romance there ever was, before or again.
The melodramatic moon hung above her pale blue face.
"I remember staring at the moon one Christmas ever, waiting to see the silhouette of Santa", she sucks her cigarette, "It was a long time ago, but I saw something that night. I'm pretty sure it was either E.T., a U.F.O. or God."
She always tells me the most absurd stories.
"God, it was fucking beautiful."
I like her for reasons such as these.
"Holy Jesus fuck!", she breathes.
I glance over at her.
She has lived here her entire life. She's watched this sun set behind the Pacific Ocean every afternoon. Or any afternoon that she bothered to look up and notice anyway. But, still the fiery pastels of dusk impressed her, so much so that she muttered blasphemous curses. She was skin and lips and things I shouldn't think.
I liked her for reasons such as these. Also, she said "fuck" a lot and she peed with the door open.
We sat on the sand and watched the sun and the ocean collide. Spectrums shattered, tinting the low hanging clouds pink. California paints her sky even in mid-October. There are no tourists to acknowledge the routine display of bragaddocio.
But the girl appreciates it. She curls her toes into the sand and shivers against the salty breeze. I'm pleased by the way her nipples push against her shirt. I wish they all could be California girls.
"Fanny packs were cool"
She's wrong but she knows it and she's just feeling nostalgic anyway. Ocean waves and skateboard trucks grinding and slapping the cement. Hushed roar of the freeway and Brian Wilson's melancholy croon, leaking from staticy car speakers. These were the noises of her years, the soundtrack of the way she'd lived.
She's got a casual way about her, lying gorgeous and naked, moon revealed on the sand. I'm still throbbing from the way she let me touch her. She was the New Romance with the sweet way of breaking every promise that she never should have made. Just like every Romance there ever was, before or again.
The melodramatic moon hung above her pale blue face.
"I remember staring at the moon one Christmas ever, waiting to see the silhouette of Santa", she sucks her cigarette, "It was a long time ago, but I saw something that night. I'm pretty sure it was either E.T., a U.F.O. or God."
She always tells me the most absurd stories.
"God, it was fucking beautiful."
I like her for reasons such as these.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
funktion:
I like her for reasons such as these. ^^
roddy:
a real dreamer there hey? it's all good.