Her hands remind me of my bow. Fingers, long and gentle - gracefully turning the pages of the book. Her body reminds me of my cello. Full hips, smaller waist in comparison, and of course not that light in the northern area. Her long , wavy, brown hair which she often keeps in a bunch on the top of her head, with flighty strands getting in her eyes. Her voice - just as sweet a sound.
Oh how I wish I was that book. If only she could regard me with such interest, touch me with those careful fingers, read my every thought.
She isn't like the girls you read about in the books; she's better, she's real.
"Benvolio Adams, maybe if you payed as much attention to the book as you do to miss Hart, you'd get higher than just the passing grade."
YOU ARE READING
Allegra
Short StoryShe was art. Not an abstract painting or a heavily worded book. She was wonders hidden in a masterpiece. Wonders others weren't bothered to look for, to appreciate. A beautiful arpeggio mastered by your left hand, the harmony produced by two notes...
