Her relationship with clothing had always been intuitive, living just below the surface of conscious thought. She rarely went looking for anything specific, and always occupied her mind with other things as her eyes and hands selected, seemingly at random, the perfect little flower print dress or a jacket to wear with jeans. Her style was eclectic and unique, but not over the top, with a subtle gypsy flair for layers and a simple, sensible quirk. Since she was a child she had always fallen naturally into beauty without effort, dark curls cascading around almond eyes, quiet, pursed-lip smiles with her eyes closed shyly or wide open with life.
"She dances and she doesn't know it," he thought, watching her approach across the living room in perfect rhythm with his howling desire. "Where did you get that shirt?" he asked her.
"This cute little shop near 5th," she answered, settling in beside him. "Do you like it?"
"It's perfect," he smiled. "You always find the good finds. I'm so not like that."
She shrugged quietly and pressed close to him, resting her head on his shoulder and laying a hand on his chest, one finger slipping between the buttons to touch him lightly on the skin. Sinking his head into the couch and closing his eyes with a sigh, he suddenly realized he was wrong. He was like that too.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
