Miss Jackson {b.u.}

{13}

Brendon Urie:
They are the most beautiful pair of brown eyes that my golden brown eyes have ever seen. I could lose myself in them. And if the devil were to ever see them, he'd kiss them and repent, because Joanne's brown eyes are sins and I just intertwine with them.

Have you ever seen brown eyes in the sun? Do you notice that 'brown' can no longer describe them? They turn into golden rays, circling an eclipse. Nothing is boring about Joanne Margaret Jackson's brown eyes. Not even when late hours encroach; they just turn into a sunset of their own.

Most people compare eyes to oceans, or galaxies. Not her eyes. Her eyes remind me of my favorite thing. I would glance down at my cup of coffee, and then back up at her coffee brown eyes. I realized that's probably why I was so awake when i'm with her. She's like my coffee in the morning, "good morning, Brendon"

I looked up at her, away from the cup of coffee that reminded me of her eyes, "good morning."

She leaned down to kiss me, sitting at the table with me, "you alright?"

I pressed the rim of the coffee mug against the lining of my lips, then taking it away, setting it down, "yeah. Are you?"

She set her arms on the table and relaxed in the chair, playing with the table's cloth, "of course."

She flashed those white, perfect straight teeth and smiled. She seemed genuinely happy and I was glad that she was. I looked down at my coffee, trying to figure out other things to say, but I couldn't. Joanne pulled her phone out, scrolling through whatever she wanted to. I got up, trying not to disturb her.

I heard her shuffling and she wrapped her arms around me and I turned around to face her. She kissed me. Her lips are sort of like a soft explosion. Igniting fireworks hidden beneath my skin, "i'll make up for all the years I was supposed to be kissing you, Jj."

She smiled, in the softest way. I moved my hand toward her face, caressing the softness of of her rosy cheeks. My thumb never stuttered and I kept it there. There was no woman I would rather be with than the woman herself. Joanne. She was mysterious, that's a no brainer. But there was something much more to her that didn't meet the eye. I wasn't sure what it was, but I hope to find out soon enough. She patted my chest with her hand, "alright, i'm gonna get ready for work and then-"

"Honey, we don't work today."

"What d'you mean?"

"It's the weekend."

She raised an eyebrow and pulled her phone out.

It was Saturday.

She shoved her phone back into her pocket and my hands fell to her hips and I felt a relaxation form over. Protecting me. Joanne was like a shield for a heart and a sword for a tongue. Her words always cut deep and she protected herself. She moved away from me as my hands trailed behind her. But I couldn't grab her. I watched as her body fell onto the couch and she laid her head peacefully down on the small pillow resting against the arm. I left her alone. Something she didn't get a lot of.

Joanne is a beautiful creature. Someone who every girl looks up to. Not because she's humble—which is a great aspect to her, but because she's honest. She's everyone's breath of fresh air...she's my breath of fresh air. Walking into my life, letting all of the air back into my lungs when I had no idea I was ever suffocating from the world. And our nightly routine is something totally new to me. She stresses out and I soothe her. If her and I were to ever end, I would find myself running to the back of the starting line because I wouldn't want to be finished with her, even if I was waiting forever, "brendon?"

"Yes, doll?"

Her head peaked up and her gentle hands moved her chestnut hair out of her face and her eyes caught my attention, "I have a proposition."