The Magic Within

Her back against the white wall, i see her in her simplicity, in her beauty, in her entirety.
She has a Marlboro cigarette in her left hand, her phone in the right. She takes a drag and automatically tilts her head towards her right as she exhales the smoke.

Dark brown auburn hair with streaks of gold shine beneath the summer sun. Her eyes squint with concentration as she reads something on her phone, perhaps an important text from someone she feels connected to.

Her beauty in these simplest of moments, take me away to another world. She's not aware. She might be even repulsed if i truly confess. I can't. Every movement she makes is a wonder in its own right. She's unforgettable.

My definition of beauty, of perfection, is her existence. The colour of her skin, her slender arms, curvy body, her scent, raw, and inviting, is magic to my soul.

The facade and undeniable destruction inside her, my pain. I see her passion, desire, adventure, yet unfulfilled.

I often wonder if there is even a possibility of someone as intoxicating as her, to ever walk this planet barefoot, with all the unwarranted troubles and burden eating her inside.. To still brave away every single day.

I often wonder.