Rhiannon [h.s.]

Rhiannon

Her eyes.
I think they blinded me for the rest of my life.
Do the others see it or did she make them blind too?
This devilish blackness glaring right into your deepest fears, passions, guilty pleasures.
She's extraordinary beautiful. Like the fresh wind on your skin when you step outside your house in the morning. This single brush of air. So fresh and so evanescent.
I wonder why I seem to be the only one who is mesmerized by her. How? How can I be the only admirer while she's been literally illuminating the whole car with her aura, radiating this strange light. Light full of something sorrowful, bitter, but so tempting.
I sense that she's not an ordinary girl, struggling with her college or work routine, saddened by human complications. Something is off about her.
She's so tense, like a string of my guitar, obliged to be under the pressure. Her spine is stiff near the back of the seat, like she's fighting the urge to attack, snap at the man who has been invading her personal space for ten long minutes, with his widely spread legs and bags placed nearly on girl's lap. I would tell him to mind his own business the moment his shoulder touched mine.
Train stops and I take a mental note to arrange the appointment with my psychologist, because I feel so happy that this girl is still sitting on the opposite seat and I can watch her through the crowd.
I figured out she may be going to the same station as me. Should I talk to her? I've gone crazy.
I want to punch this douche when he elbows her in the stomach. Does he want to break her limbs? How can he not see that she's fragile like a porcelain doll?
I feel protective growl dying to erupt from my throat. I want to teach him some manners so bad but do nothing, clenching my fists and watching as the girl winces, shooting the douche a furious glance.
If looks could kill... He would be lying breathless at her feet, he deserved to be a victim of the black eyed witch.
Man ignores her, she says nothing and hides her pools behind her eyelids, breathing in deeply and exhaling through her nose. She opens her eyes and I chuckle at her oh so obvious annoyance and how bad she is in covering it. Her anger is adorable yet somehow powerful. If looks could kill...

Time is passing and I'm still gawking at her. She's been in her phone typing one hell of a text, more like a novel.
I may or may not caught her staring at my shoes, but she quickly returned her eyes to her phone and didn't look in my direction since.
Was she texting her boyfriend about me? Some weird long haired man stalking her for half an hour like a maniac? Is she asking him to kick my ass?
When someone answers her back she rolles her eyes and smiles, shaking her head and leaning back in small space she has and I have to control my breathing when I see her laughing. I pause the song playing in my ipod to hear the sound of her laugh, but she's voiceless. She closes her mouth with her pale hand with several rings on her long thin fingers, and I wonder what is she. What is she?
The song in my playlist changes and Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac starts to play just when the train reaches the next stop. Majority of passengers moves to the doors but I watch her still, through the blur of bodies, afraid of loosing a sight of her. With my favorite tune in my ears and magical voice of Stevie Nicks in my head I realise something. The train starts to move to its last destination and nothing is shielding her from me. I continue to stare, I can't help myself.
Now it's quite obvious, but I genuinely can't find anything in me to care. I can't take my eyes off her relieved posture and curly messy brown hair, prominent collarbones and silver moon necklace visible through the black fabric of her dress. Her whole demeanor changes when the rude man leaves and she's not surrounded by people, free of strangers in her mystical bubble. She sighs in relief and sits more comfortably, running her hand through her curls, tugs her necklace and leans back, smirking. So devilishly beautiful.

She becomes even more interesting to watch when she starts tapping her foot on the floor to the beat of something. Only then I notice she has headphones on. I immediately feel like I'd die to know what she's listening to. Is she into r&b? Some modern pop singers? Is her taste in music as unique as she seems? Like a crazy man I am I try to catch the beat of the song and guess it, and if I didn't know I would tell she's helping me, because she starts to tap with her thin fingers against her knee, like she's playing drums.
I can tell now she's into music and plays instruments for sure. Why? Ask anyone who's a musician himself. You just feel it when people know what they're doing. And she certainly knows how drums work.
I follow the movements of her fingers and for a second my heart skips a bit and I think all the blood in my body rushes straight into my head, into my brain and it explodes. Her hands pause in the air as if the time stopped. She caught me starring.
I know it but I don't avert my eyes. My palms are sweaty, I can't think clearly and I take a note to see my cardiologist too, because my heart seems to be doing flips in my chest for no reason. Yes, beautiful girl just caught me stalking her, and maybe she will run away screaming , but I wasn't going to approach her, was I? Am I?
It takes everything in me to lift my head up but I don't regret it when I see her big dark eyes looking right into mine without fear or disgust.