I log on and you are there. Waiting, almost for my presence. You are looking straight at me.
You are alone. So it’s just you and me. Usually, you are with someone: sometimes a guy, sometimes a girl; and sometimes with both. You have been on your own before, but you have never looked directly into my eyes like this. You have never gazed at me, never been aware of me, never acknowledged my presence. Until now.
Our eyes make contact. We connect. We are together in this moment. Just us.
As I gaze at you, there’s no getting away from one key fact: you are incredibly beautiful. Simply trying to describe this beauty is almost beyond me. Your face is pretty. That word pretty sounds trite, I know. But it’s true. Your features are perfect: nose, lips, cheeks, chin. All just perfect. Your dark hair looks great, especially the way it curls down one side and tumbles over your shoulder. And your brown eyes look amazing, especially when you smile.
The word ‘pretty’, however banal, works for you. It has a wholesome ring to it. And that is you. You have, as my mother would say, a kind face. You look as if you say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ a lot. You probably wear polished shoes. Your bedroom, lounge, kitchen are all really tidy – I am sure. You eat your five – no six or more – a day. And you put your knife and fork neatly on the plate when you have finished eating.
You are sitting there in your flat with the morning sun lighting up your shoulders. The light brightens your white slip, and picks out the lace edging. There’s a charming warmth to your smile. Everywhere around you it is light, airy and welcoming.
Where I am it is dark and cold. Many......to read the rest of this story please login or register to read the full story free.
Read all about the wonderful author: PJA Woode