F is for First Impressions [WIP]

That was the first time I saw her.

It was my first morning in New York;  sleepiness burrowed in the corners of my eyes and a there was messiness to my hair that only a restless sleep could conjure. I sluggishly made my way across town to saunter up and down the bookshelves of the New York Public Library and there she was. As appealing as a buttercup; Beautiful but not strikingly so. She was not a glamorous model from the cover of a magazine but she was no pretty young thing in too much eyeliner either. She had the kind of face that would remain lovely forever, even when time had run its course and left its marks there. Something curiously feline lay about the rounded cheeks and wide almond eyes, the outline of her cheekbones dusted in a gentle flush from the early winter cold that had been nipping softly at her face. She evoked warm sunshine and miso soup and lazy sunday mornings spent reading books in bed, sunlight streaming through the window; her peaches and cream complexion pale and delicate like newly formed porcelain and perfumed like blooming peonies. I wanted to reach out and touch her; dance my fingertips across the nape of her neck and watch the hairs rise in anticipation. She stood there, in a moss green raincoat scattered with pink polkadots and her hair, piled at the back of her head in a nebula of waves, tumbling stray curls that framed her gentle face in whimsical pastel shades reminiscent of Springtime and hand-painted Easter eggs. 

I felt compelled to go to her, to fold her up like origami and smuggle her away in my pocket; to tuck her into the creases of my elbows and cradle her in the junctions of my shoulders; To wrap myself around her like a second skin and protect her from the harsh realities of this world.

She was the most exquisite creature I had seen in a long time.

She's hot. I'd tap that.

That guy has yellow and turquoise hair. Yellow and blue make me think of the sunshine at the beach. I like the beach, especially in summer and I also like orange popsicles. The kind of popsicles that have tiny bits of real orange in and fizzle on your tongue a little with the tangy citrus flavour that feels like there is a party going on inside my mouth. Perhaps he would like orange popsicles too. Maybe I should ask him. But what if he DOESN'T like orange popsicles? That would be a tricky situation. If his hair was orange and blue then I would know he does indeed like orange popsicles but then he wouldn't remind me of summertime at the beach and there would be no need for orange popsicles anyway.
I wonder what his name is. Perhaps its Timothy or Paul or maybe even Greg. I knew a guy named Greg once. He owned a pet shop down on 3rd and I bought a hamster from there when I was about eight. Though maybe I was nine. I called the hamster Tobias and he used to sit in the hood of my sweater and sleep inside my sleeves until dinnertime. I wonder if the guy with the yellow and blue hair likes hamsters. Maybe his name is Hamster. I suppose there is only one way to find out.

I'm laying here thinking of him again. In my dreams I hear his breaths; breaths like little waves lapping at the shore; peaceful beside me. I try and blink back the sleep, my eyes lash wide against the pillow but all I can think about is the outline of his jaw, his eyes; green like the curling fronds of a baby fern. My body is tired and simply longs to drift off to him again; to dive back into rapturous sleep where my imagination could take me where I want and I won't have the consciousness to stop my racing, blissful thoughts. I shake my head in protest, trying to rid him from my mind. I shouldn't feel this way. I have no idea if he even feels the same way towards me. I've gotten to that point where I don't understand why I feel the way I do but all I can do is feel it. It's the worst feeling knowing that I can't do anything but wait and ride it out with a chance of there being no destination at the end of it. Just a lonely one-way ticket back to where I started. The truth is - rejection terrifies me. Not just in the direction of my career but in this moment. With this one person.

I try to play tricks on my mind and busy myself by hopping out of bed and getting dressed, cleaning my teeth and brushing my hair. There is a bounce in my step, a keen spring that wasn't there before  like I finally have something to wake up for, to breathe for. But no. I can't think that way. I'm just getting ahead of myself. Slow Down Joeby. Slow down.