Broken Smiles

1. Him

          1. Him

I see her every day through my window. She lives on the other side of the narrow alley between our houses. Only seven or eight meters away. She’s been living there for nearly two months now.  

She has reddish, quite short hair that always falls into her eyes. She tries to keep it away by braiding it to the sides.

She seems to be around my height, about 170 cm (5.7”). She’s not one of those girls that spends hour shopping for the latest fashion. That doesn’t mean that she dresses bad, it just means that she’s a bit more original. I like it when she wears skinny jeans with a shirt tucked down. It shows of her figure and those love handles makes me go crazy.

I adore everything she does. I have a view over her bedroom, well it’s also her living-room. I like her interior. Her walls are filled with old LPs and paintings of all kinds. She often brings new things home and miraculously manage to squeeze them in.

I like that her large, old time-stained wooden book-shelves are filled with books and that it matches her desk. I like that it is by the desk that she spends most of her time. She sits there for hours and write. I like that she writes by hand.

I like her green arm-chair in her reading-corner. I like that she reads at least two books every week. I like that she doesn’t own a TV.

I like that the only boys that I’ve seen in her flat have been her friends’ boyfriends.

Most of all I like when it’s midnight and I can’t sleep so I get out of bed to paint. Then she’s sitting there. On her usual spot by the desk or possibly in her arm-chair. But at night she mostly sits in the window. She either turns the pages of her books or writing until her pen catch fire. Row after row after row. I’m wondering what she’s writing. I like how she sometimes crumble paper after paper and throws them away when she’s not happy of how it turned out. I like how she always picks them up again and saves them in a file. I like how she can get so frustrated that she constantly pulls her hair until it stands straight out from her head.

I like that when she’s too tired to continue concentrating on writing or reading, she just sits and look out through the window. She looks down at the alley and up towards the stars. I like that I can feel her eyes piercing my neck.

I like how she eventually falls asleep there, with her head against the glass. I like that she wakes up when dawn breaks. I love that I’m the first thing she sees. I like that she smiles when she opens her eyes and see me.