He liked to watch her in the mornings. She'd trudge over to the window and let in a little sun through the blinds. And like that she'd stand - shoulder straps amiss, hair all frizzed, and eyes barely awake. To him, she looked like a watercolor portrait then, fragile yet perfect. This ritual she carefully executed almost seemed to revive her resting soul and stir it in the most magnificent way possible. The way the strips of light fell across her body and the way her lips curled with satisfaction was a subtle show. Put on soley for a single audience.
Roger Noons about 3 years ago
I love this.