Saturday, May 2, 2009
She is so beautiful. I look at her beautiful face and her wild hair, barely contained and I wonder why she hasn't been snapped up. Too fierce, she tells me. Perhaps she is too frighteningly intelligent. I can hold my own with her, but many couldn't. She is straight talking. She is honest. She demands that people treat her well. If not she will walk away. I like her. I imagine she would be passionate with a lover. The illusive lover that is missing out on something wonderful. I see her running away to some house on a wild shore where she collects shells in the morning and runs naked into the icy waves heaped with seaweed. I imagine her finding her passion and writing her book and I will come and visit her there. We will talk like life-long friends. I like her. I would like to take a break from the world for a moment. She and I talking. Up late with a bottle of scotch settled between us. She is so beautiful. With her I feel beautiful as well. I think we have become friends.