A real life Mona Lisa,
with a smirk on the corner of her lips.
Barely there.
Why was she smiling?
I guess I’ll never know.
I was mesmerized by a girl last Saturday. I ran into a store to pick up a few things, of which I only got one, and as I was making my way to the check out lane I saw her. If I didn’t have more control of my faculties I would have dropped my mouth open a little and muttered a delightfully surprised word to myself along the lines of damn or jesus.
I only caught a glance of her before I had to divert my attention because it felt like I was staring. She couldn’t have been much more than twenty-five-years old and the top of her head barely would’ve peaked above my chin if we stood face to face. What caught my attention first, though, was her hair. She looked like one of those flapper girls from the 1920’s minus the short skirt, but with the attitude intact.
She also had a smirk on her lips. I don’t know if it was there before I noticed her but it was there after. I felt like she knew exactly what I was thinking and couldn’t help but smile. Kind of thinking, “yeah I know I look good.”
Her dark hair was the perfect contrast to her pale ivory skin. It was as if you were driving through the greenest forest that ended on the shores of the ocean. The whiteness along her shoulders and neck was captivating. They were open to the air in her one-piece pin-stripped jumpsuit with the upper portion resembling a tank top. Once again I had to look away. My eyes continued to betray me and sneaked my glances back towards her.
I had to resist every urge to turn around and stare as I passed her. There were no locking eyes and smiling. I wanted to of course. She was stunning. It was even more difficult to resist turning to tell her how beautiful she was when she came up behind me in the checkout line with her two items; one I forget and the other must have been her lunch. A container of salsa, sour cream and tortilla chips.
Of course I remember what she bought. I looked at it as I put my plastic wrapped cheese on the belt. Tilting my head as far to the left as I could without turning towards her. I could have gone on about her beauty and told her how exquisite she looked. But I didn’t want to ruin her day by possibly giving an unwanted compliment. I’m sure I looked creepy enough trying not to stare.
She is worthy of having words written about her though. Many words. Hopefully she’s told them often. Beauty deserves to be recognized and praised in all forms. She is beauty. She was my muse for a moment and hopefully more. I’m sure I’ll never see her again but I’ll picture her and write as long as she lasts.
A Hopeless Romantic, Stirred 