He found her body was a wonderful succession of details. He liked staring at her thighs as she was kneeling down because they shimmered in the soft light. And he quite liked that her clean feet were sometimes dirty. He secretly loved looking at her breasts while she was doing something. He loved looking at her breasts in general, but it was the little details that drove him crazy.
Like the half moon drawn on the side of her breast when she was wearing a tank top. The way she tightened her ass before putting her panties in place. He liked her lips because they were graceful; hard and soft all at once. Sometimes he found himself lost in the back of her neck, especially when her hair was tied up. He also liked each and every soft mark left on her skin. The red outline left from her bra, for instance. Her tan in summer. And he loved to see that little bit of hair over the top of her panties. He also liked seeing her laying down and staring at her breath. And those two islands showing up from her underwear.
He was hypnotized when she took her shirt off
And her breasts shook like a creme caramel in an earthquake.
Edit: I had to revise this just a little bit because me getting upset while writing certainly influenced what I ended up talking about. For as long as I know I’ve been very attached to my routines. You get a sense of comfort when you know what you have to look forward to the next
I hate the title of this post but I couldn’t think of a better one that describes what I was wanting to talk about in this post so I suppose it’ll have to stay. I just finished watching two shows and I got this weird feeling that I have, because I don’t know any other
I think there is a certain amount of preciousness in the little things. Flowers growing through the sidewalk, seeing the start of a tree in a tiny flower pot. The innocent beginning of a relationship. Or even seemingly meaningless questions, like, ” Hey, did you happen to eat today?” Or, ” How did you sleep