Glowing...

Her most striking feature is her hair. You couldn't miss it if it were a mile away from where you were standing. It's like pure, glowing, fire surrounding her pale face. The fire hangs about shoulder length, and blows straight behind her as she walks. As the sunlight hits it, it glows with such force one could almost believe that it's battery operated.

As she turns to face me, I once again notice the pallor, almost bloodless, quality of her skin. She looks as though she's carved of pure ivory. The sunlight seems to reflect off of her skin. You'd think that it would blind anyone who would happen to look in her direction. The whiteness of the girl's skin did the exact opposite for me. It drew my eye to her, and held it there for a long while. She was so displaced from the crowd she was walking in. She appeared as a bright, glowing light in a sea of dark business suits, and briefcases. Her hair and face alone were what lent to this vision.

As she comes closer to me, my sense of vision is assaulted by the contrast of her red hair against the lime green sweater she has chosen to wear today. Once again, I catch a glimpse of the girl's pale skin, peeking out from beneath the cuffs of her tight blue jeans. Her stride are long, and powerful, portraying force and invincibility.

The girl looks particularly confident today. She seems aware of the fact that people's heads turn as she walks past them. She knows that people notice her when she walks down the street. Many people notice her elegant grace. Their reactions vary. Some seem to be attracted to her diversity, while others are apparently not. Even amongst the dirty looks, and stares that she receives, she radiates less defiance than one might expect.

I think she's noticed me staring at her, as she slowly is making her way towards where I am standing. We've made eye contact, and neither of us has pulled away. She obviously enjoys this relentless stare--down.

Her eyes are sharp, and I feel like they're stabbing me with their pointedness. There is also a softness in her eyes though. The softness is only revealed to people willing to probe deeper into the girl's possible thoughts. It's there for all to see, if they choose to look for it. I don't care how hard she glares at me, I'm not going to give in. My eyes are going to stay right where they are, planted on her.

Her eyes are defined by a single black line on her lower eye lid. The line continues, just slightly, past the corner of her eye, and then tapers to an elegant point. This must be what makes her eyes look so harsh. The girl's eye themselves though, are soft, and warm. They remind me of a doe's eyes, large and glassy, yet innocent and somewhat nervous. Even though her stare is still directed towards me, I can tell that she would be much more comfortable letting her eyes dart around, madly exploring everything around her.

She approaches, still coming closer to me. She's looked away now. She's stopped meeting my stare. I can almost feel her footsteps hitting the ground, as her petite form moves even closer to me. There's a heavy, yellow bag on her shoulder, which is weighing down her right side. It's obviously troublesome to carry, because she keeps moving it to different place on her shoulder, as if to find a spot that won't be so easily pained.

She's almost reached me. I can tell that the girl enjoys collecting, and displaying vintage jewelry, by the amount which adorns her body. Silver is her favorite. There is a large silver ring on one of her fingers. Around her slender neck are two necklaces. One hangs lower than the other. They are both silver. As her hair blows back away from the side of her face, earrings are revealed to me. They are silver hoops. I'm sure that somewhere, hidden beneath the long sleeves of her sweater, there are also her vintage bracelets.

She walks right past me. As if she didn't even see me standing there, waiting for her. I can't describe her smell, although it's very familiar to me. It's a combination of her softly applied perfume, and heavily scented shampoo. I'm lost in her scent, then as it softly fades away, following her, I realize once again that she just passed me by, without a glance. What was she thinking? Why did she do that? How could she just pass me by? I run to catch up to her, and when I get there, we begin a conversation, which lasts until we reach her apartment.

As of the end of this post I am currently listening to "Didn't I Know You Once" by Surgery from the album "Shimmer" released in 1994