his pov
She looked like the curve of a crushed wave sloppy against the bank but dammit if she wasn't laced with wonders.
I knew her eyes were always placed onto me, because how could I ever not notice the coffee swirled droplets of chocolate pressed delicately against her tanned skin.
She made me nervous, nervous an understatement, she terrified me. She had a way with her lips, the way they would press into a thick line when I know she is talking to herself inside her own thoughts, or when they plop out into this insanely curved reddish tinted blossom, she was too naturally curious.
I couldn't stand by her. She made my body burn a thousand degrees. I couldn't look at her. She made my eyes water and refuse to blink. I couldn't breathe the same air as her. Her scent is like smelling everything you have ever loved in one quick sniff, so I didn't breathe.
She was looking for me. Yesterday, after I got off the bus, I know she was looking for me.
Fuck, she was beautiful. Her hair, it's something that I could stare at for a century and still want more.
She believes I don't notice. She thinks I've never met those eyes, but boy, if you've seen hers, you could never forget.
I saw her too. In the rear view mirror of that dammed bus, her skin was olive but bright, she would look down at her own delicately thick boned fingers every time we held some sort of direction that was similar.
Fuck. Was she scared to look at me? She was impossible to read. She was almost coated in some sort of layer that blocked off all images.
She's not at the bus stop yet. I can feel the worthless cigarette falling into my hair, but I didn't care, her silhouette will arrive any moment, and then what? Fuck Harry, you are so worthless.
And I could feel her coming. Her skin gave off an ecstasy of pain. I've known her for twenty three days now, and she never ceases to surprise me with her beauty.
Her long simple legs carry her across the street, clad in black tight jeans, a loose white vneck skimming through her skin. I could only imagine.
I didn't even have to look at her to see her. She was so massively noticeable that she could be behind the bus and I would still know what face she was making.
She is smiling, and here I am lighting a cigarette. She is nodding at an elderly man with corduroys. I wonder if she has noticed me.
Her skin is undeniably smooth and I wouldn't even have to feel it, I just know.
She was the kind of girl to smile at the sky even when lightening strikes the clouds and thunder booms over her bones, shaking her skin.
Her lips faded and suddenly I felt my rib cage shudder. She was looking at me. My breath was uneven and I pressed all I could into that dammed cage. I slowly let all air out of me and inhaled soulless nicotine.
She looked away.
I needed to talk to her.
Christ.
Fuck it.
I stood slowly, the bus was audible, but I had minutes on my wrist. I flicked off the last cigarette I would smoke, at least until I conquered my fears- her.
She was even more scared, her limbs shaking and her skin rising with that breath that was forced from her lungs.
Dammit.
I sat so far from her I might as well have just stayed on the other side, her right leg peeling off of the edge as I just stared at her.
Typically I find myself smiling in my mind and glaring on my outer membrane out of force of habit, but I couldn't help but notice the way she would take me in. Her eyes were so discrete the way they rolled all around my skin, and I could feel myself flaming.
I would've said something. Of course I would've said something to her, something that would've made her want to smile more often, but I couldn't dig out the courage in my lungs.
A simple man with enough power to distract her from my eyesight dropped three overly packed brown paper sacs filled with groceries and I didn't even need to read her thoughts because she jumped up in less than three seconds, accompanying the young jest in his exploding discovery.
I looked behind my shoulder, the purple and blue bus opening the doors for the fourteen people that are here every single day, minus me and the beautiful soulful creature in front of me, I watched until the doors slammed shut and the maple syrup bus driver met my eyes and drove right passed me.
He never liked me.
Ever since I ripped him off three fucking dollars six months back, he almost refuses every single morning.
By the time the streets were quiet, I turned to my side to see the girl patting the thankful mans hands in an attempt to hide how pissed she was that she just missed the bus.
This was it.
We were alone.
Her eyes met mine and I forgot that I had a conscious because for some crazy reason I had zero feelings but the thought of her body under mine.
"Dammit." She muttered and slumped onto the bench in an attempt to scoot out of my eyesight and to hide her anger.
I couldn't stop looking.
"I'm assuming your mother never told you not to stare?" I didn't assume she would have such an attitude to her, she was so delicately flawed in a field of roses, her voice was silk, and I couldn't speak up, "she should've told you that it's rude."
"Are you trying to make our first impression extremely cliche?" Fuck Harry, the first and only thing you say comes out ruder than most assholes around.
"I wouldn't consider this our first impression."
She stood up and so I stepped to the side to see where her next destination would be.
"And why not?"
"You sit in front of me on the bus almost every damn day, I've got my impression of you." I didn't think missing the god dammed bus would've made her so pissed but fuck.
"And what would that be?"
She didn't speak for the longest time, she just slowly walked, almost like she knew I was trailing close behind.
"Impressions are usually meant to be kept to the self, you know, to keep it sweet."
I wanted to look up every single growing morning and see her beside me, the way her tongue rolled when she would say words like "impression and sweet" she made me heart hurt, and I was intrigued.
"So your impression of me is something I would prefer not to hear?"
"Yeah." She kept things simple. I loved simple.
We were silent, she looked at me and I lost feelings, again.
"What?" She spoke, turning around and walking passed me, sitting on the same bench like always.
I wanted to tell her the next bus won't be here for another twenty two minutes, but something told me that that would be wrong.
I could watch her until the sun set in the sky, the way the clouds faded against her dark long hair, her eyes were like coal when she glared at me, and it made me wish that I was a terrible child on Christmas morning just so I could receive a present as wonderful as her.
She smelled like vanilla cola and I couldn't cut my senses off.
"Are you going to stand there and stare at me all day or are we going to have a normal conversation like most strangers would?"
