I fall in love with every pretty girl that I see. I really do. And it isn't lust. I genuinely fall in love, at least a little, with every single pretty girl that I see. I pain over them. My heart speeds up, my pores start leaking miniscule particles of sweat, my speech gets taken from me and my eyes cry out for attention, for recognition until I either get it or go unnoticed. And when they leave the room or building or just move out of sight my heart continues to ache. It's a sickness it really is. Pretty girls have this magical power over me. They always have.
I feel that it's in order to define pretty because I think that the general definition of pretty doesn't
always encompass what I'm talking about. I mean, don't get me wrong there are the pretty girls that
turn heads and leave every man they encounter, me included, feeling a bit limp. But there are also others that leave me feeling this way, not particularly for their physical attractiveness but for something that I see in them. This thing has been something that I've been trying to define for awhile and I'm still not sure what it is. It's just this thing, almost like a weakness or something that they don't hide, or that they do hide but I can still see. It's this very weakness that leaves my heart yearning for them. There's this saying that goes, "You like someone for their character and love them for their weaknesses."
I skip over the like and head straight to the love. Half of these girls that I love, and I say love with
complete earnestness because I do love them, don't even know that I have even taken any notice to them. There was a time awhile back, while I was in college that I fell deeply in love with a girl on a train with whom I had never talked with.
In a city full of bad luck, at an hour when all of the filth has run amuck a genuine angel appeared to me on the subway back to Long Island. I don't remember the circumstances of the particular journey but I remember the girl with precise clarity. She had curly bleached blonde hair that was cut just below her chin. Her attire made her look like she was from another time, the Victorian era with a corset and frilly skirt. She had these gold earrings that dangled from her ears which she played with the entire ride while she looked out of the window in a detached manner. It was as if she had just gotten out of a time capsule and was implanted in New York City. But what caught my attention was not so much her dress. It was that detached look in her eyes. What was it that she was thinking about? There was something troubling her weary mind, something inescapably painful.
I saw her again the next day at approximately the same time and she was dressed in a similar attire with the same look in her eyes. That painful stare has left my heart dangling on a string with no knot at the bottom for years now. Literally, it's been like three years and I still recall this girl that I saw on a subway twice and wonder about what was troubling her mind. I never saw her again after that but that was all it took. Two shared subway rides and my heart was hers. If that isn't love, then I don't know what is.
I feel that it's in order to define pretty because I think that the general definition of pretty doesn't
always encompass what I'm talking about. I mean, don't get me wrong there are the pretty girls that
turn heads and leave every man they encounter, me included, feeling a bit limp. But there are also others that leave me feeling this way, not particularly for their physical attractiveness but for something that I see in them. This thing has been something that I've been trying to define for awhile and I'm still not sure what it is. It's just this thing, almost like a weakness or something that they don't hide, or that they do hide but I can still see. It's this very weakness that leaves my heart yearning for them. There's this saying that goes, "You like someone for their character and love them for their weaknesses."
I skip over the like and head straight to the love. Half of these girls that I love, and I say love with
complete earnestness because I do love them, don't even know that I have even taken any notice to them. There was a time awhile back, while I was in college that I fell deeply in love with a girl on a train with whom I had never talked with.
In a city full of bad luck, at an hour when all of the filth has run amuck a genuine angel appeared to me on the subway back to Long Island. I don't remember the circumstances of the particular journey but I remember the girl with precise clarity. She had curly bleached blonde hair that was cut just below her chin. Her attire made her look like she was from another time, the Victorian era with a corset and frilly skirt. She had these gold earrings that dangled from her ears which she played with the entire ride while she looked out of the window in a detached manner. It was as if she had just gotten out of a time capsule and was implanted in New York City. But what caught my attention was not so much her dress. It was that detached look in her eyes. What was it that she was thinking about? There was something troubling her weary mind, something inescapably painful.
I saw her again the next day at approximately the same time and she was dressed in a similar attire with the same look in her eyes. That painful stare has left my heart dangling on a string with no knot at the bottom for years now. Literally, it's been like three years and I still recall this girl that I saw on a subway twice and wonder about what was troubling her mind. I never saw her again after that but that was all it took. Two shared subway rides and my heart was hers. If that isn't love, then I don't know what is.
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