"Phabi, you know I hate to write. Fuck, why do you think I dropped out of Highschool? But I made you a promise. I promised I'd do anything to make you happy. And if that means writing you a story then so be it. My little Edgar Allen Poe." I began re...
We arrived to the arena, chauffeured in a limousine. Our driver rounded our door, opening it. Immediately being ambushed with flash photography and rowdy press. The chauffeur aided Phabiola out of the limo, as she stepped foot onto the red carpet. In such an awe of her genuine beauty, I didn't even realize the chauffeur awaited me to exit the vehicle. I blushed, pushing myself up out of the low riding limo, gazing at Phabiola in her resplendent fitted red gown. My breath snatched from the soul of me as soon as she slipped into that crimson dress. Not being permitted to strut the carpet with her, she being pulled every which way. I gawked in amazement and endearment while she conversed with an interviewer.
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"You're up for Best New Author and Best Seller in this year's National Book Awards?" The interviewer questioned.
She nodded in reply as press recorded the conversation. All the while around us chaotic-ness occurred. Yet all I was able to view due to my purposeful tunnel vision for Phabiola Fenty.
"My reason for writing is standin' ova' there." Phabi pursed her lips into a grin, the interviewer turned his attention to me. I gave a toothless smile, and a small wave.
Awaiting the end of their conversation, I stood silent. She's so beautiful, the most exotic human being. Please, hold my heart with care. For as long as you live, cherish the palpitating organ as it thrashes. You're the only reason it beats anyhow. For you know not all, I'll do for you. No limitations when dealing with you. My sole priority is to inundate you with the most powerful force known to mankind. Love. Keep my heart beating with the enunciation of your thoughts in your native tongue. The small smiles, and light laughter. Date nights, drinking coconut milk. Early mornings, and crazy bed hair. Sharing herbs, swathing tongue. The feel of your olive skin on my fingertips. Spawns my heart rate's hefty pulsing. No one could ever be as in love with you as I am.
"Ready babe?" Her voice graces the drums of my ears.
Latching our fingers loosely, she guides the way down the cerise carpeting. I paid no mind to the flashes, nor the bystanders chanting for Phabiola's attention. I observed in admiration and reverence her being natural in such a exploiting environment. Finally, venturing into the building and brought to our seats. Many faces of authors I don't recognize, if only Poe was alive.
"Look! That's Stephanie Meyer!" Phabi exclaimed pointing to a Caucasian lady talking with the fellow authors.
"I'on know her baby. I just know you. Only important person here anyway."
