have been chewing on this one for a week or so actually, but only started writing today, after i rolled around in my bed for a good two hours =\ i thought of this scene when i was listening to enrique iglesias (wow i didn’t spell his name wrong! woot woot! bonus pts for me :D). can you guess which song?
also, i have been super jealous lately, of all those great writers (i.e. chekhov, joyce, faulkner – in that order). man oh man, it’s amazing how some people are just so naturally good at writing! i am so amazed, and admire them even more now. shakespeare no more! i think i have moved on from high school literature (and obsession over shksp.) FINALLY. time for some russian goodness (and irish and southern)!
Her eyes had that inquisitive look again. They were dark and silent, quietly purring to me, blowing sweet breaths into my ears, wondering if I had been paying attention all along.
Her dark eyelashes swept up and down, fanning sparkling jewels before me. I saw her put those on earlier in the bathroom, when she leaned forward, over the sink, to be closer to the mirror. I wondered how much they cost.
Her eyes were still looking at me. They were long and slender, like the leaves of a willow tree, burnt around the edges. The blue light shone from the stage onto her oval face. It complimented her shimmering skin, her cheekbones, her short nose and ear lops.
Heels clicked on the marble floor.
A pair of eyes glared at the back of my head, burning a spot where I have not gone bald. My heart skipped a beat, accidentally. I tightened my grip on her.
Some blonde woman in a short tube dress pushed past us, half drunk, half conscious. I couldn’t see what color it was, but it showed off her elbow.
The blue light came about again, glancing over her messy bun, and right past my face.
In a moment of impulse, I pulled her into my arms, and answered:
As she laid her head on my shoulder, I couldn’t tell if she was happy
or sad. at all.
*edit 7/22/11 2:10 pm