her*

[...]

And I saw her.

For the first time without fear,

truly. I stared deeper in her than I used to lately.

Every line of her face was the same.

Every curve of her body was the same.

So, why isn’t she the same woman anymore?

Her lips. Full and dipped in the colour of mocka, as they used to.

Her eyes. The colour of my dreams.

The colour of empathy. With that heat and purity.

But her eyelashes? She puts mascara on now?

And does she wear blue eye liner?

It seems that she expects something..

Her ears. Her brows. Her nose out of shape.

Her lovable cheeks, getting red when I used to sing for her or whisper.

Her hair. Ah, long and gold and wavy and acidic.

Her fingers. The ones I used to cry for, late at night.

Her knees. Her hips. Her shoulders.

Her elbows, I used to kiss.

The way she moved. Always so magical, fabulous movements.

The way her cup was reaching her mouth every now and then, and her expression when hot coffee touched the tip of her tongue.

And the way she was dressed. Purple always looked good on her and green as well.

Her laughter. Her ethereal voice.

Her tiny feet. Her body that fitted perfectly to my sheets.

Her aura...

And for few minutes I went back there, to the back of my memories. And felt like a puzzle that has all of its pieces to their right place. I was whole. I was ready.