“Beauty without expression is boring,“ – Ralph Waldo Emerson.
hand
Her hair looks like my hair.
I’m like one of those little kids who sees pictures or drawings and says “I’m that one” and points at some character in the picture with the same hair color as her.
But, whatever. I’m not ashamed.
The Holiday Party, Part 3
After some time of talking to Noodlegirl, I realized I had completely lost track of Septum. I scanned the place for a bit, wandering around, until I noticed her with the Ryan Gosling-esque DJ.
“Wow,” Noodlegirl said, “your friend’s totally macking it with the DJ.”
I shrugged, “she just got out of a long relationship. She could use it.” I was aware that she was in control enough to not let herself get taken advantage of. Suddenly, Ren’s sister walked up and the two of them started making out as well.
“Shit,” Noodlegirl chuckled.
I laughed, “yeah, I really have no explanation for that. But, it’s good to see she’s having a nice time.”
“O YOU whom I often and silently come where you are, that I may be with you;
As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me.”
– Walt Whitman
“She understood that her heart operated on its own instructions, that she had no control over it or, indeed, anything else.” – Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex.
I own panties that look just like these.
Same color, same style, same scalloping.
Now, whenever I wear them, I’m going to be thinking of the content of this picture. Especially that hand and the intention behind it.
Oh, tumblr, you just ruin everything.
It’s his. And you can’t see it.
It doesn’t matter that she wishes you could. Or that she’s hoping he’ll spread his middle and ring fingers, opening her lips to you as an invitation. Or that she’s been looking at you with that same coy smile all day, letting thoughts of you taking that which he has hidden from you tumble around her mind.
You wonder if she’s wet under that hand. Part of you already knows the answer to that. You wonder what she tastes like. That you don’t know the answer to. He won’t grant you the privilege of that knowledge.
She’s surrendered herself to him this way out of her own free will. He chooses who sees her, who touches her, who tastes her, who fucks her. And he chooses who she gets to see, touch, taste and fuck. Judging by the hand going over her eyes, he can tell what you’re doing with her mind. And you can tell that you’ve clearly overstayed your welcome in there.