Beautiful, but not good enough
Beautiful but not good enough
She glanced at him through the black Ray-Bans perched on her nose.
He was beautiful.
He moved with skill and grace, dodging left and right with the ball between his feet. He dribbled a little before making a pass and moving closer to the net. As the ball reconnected to his foot, it flew. The shift of his foot and the swing of his leg had been so graceful and fluid that it merely looked as though he was dancing.
Unsurprisingly, the ball flew in with une saut d’ange. Just as gracefully as its scorer.
All she could think was that he was beautiful. She watched him prance in happiness, her eyes greedily drinking in the sun-kissed skin, the windblown hair, and the mountain ridges of his calves. She willed herself not to think about his chocolatety brown eyes. Ones she wished would drink her in and smile with drunken content. He was beautiful and she wanted him. She wanted to lean back against his strong muscled legs. She wanted to run her hands through his short tousled curls. She wanted more than anything to kiss his golden skin.
She wanted him but couldn’t have him – she would never be good enough for him
He ran toward his teammates, knowing his face was masked in joy. He scanned the sidelines for his coach when he saw her.
She was beautiful.
She was cheering with the rest of the home crowd at the goal. Con brio yet dolce. It sounded musical, grazioso. He imagined her pink lips to be soft all the while willing himself to avoid the imaginative thoughts of her rosebuds brushing across his and trailing over his body.
The wind tousled her dark brown hair gently while the sun shone down on the silky strands. He realized with a start that her hair was dancing with upmost grace. Her lithe form was clad in her forest green kilt and a snow-white shirt. Both garments fluttered breezily with the melody of the light wind. She was beautiful. He devoured this sight of her. He wanted to play with the silky strands of hair. He wanted to hold her tiny lithe frame against his hard rough body. He wanted more than anything to play with the pin on her kilt and the buttons of her shirt.
He wanted her but couldn’t have her – he would never be good enough for her.
If she could have taken off her sunglasses she would have been able to see past the darken lenses. And realized that behind the hard victorious gleam shining from his eyes was a glimmer of sadness. And if he could have been able to see past the dark plastic then he wouldn’t have been just masked in joyous victory. He would have been truly happy.
Beautiful, but not good enough.
He was beautiful.
He moved with skill and grace, dodging left and right with the ball between his feet. He dribbled a little before making a pass and moving closer to the net. As the ball reconnected to his foot, it flew. The shift of his foot and the swing of his leg had been so graceful and fluid that it merely looked as though he was dancing.
Unsurprisingly, the ball flew in with une saut d’ange. Just as gracefully as its scorer.
All she could think was that he was beautiful. She watched him prance in happiness, her eyes greedily drinking in the sun-kissed skin, the windblown hair, and the mountain ridges of his calves. She willed herself not to think about his chocolatety brown eyes. Ones she wished would drink her in and smile with drunken content. He was beautiful and she wanted him. She wanted to lean back against his strong muscled legs. She wanted to run her hands through his short tousled curls. She wanted more than anything to kiss his golden skin.
She wanted him but couldn’t have him – she would never be good enough for him
He ran toward his teammates, knowing his face was masked in joy. He scanned the sidelines for his coach when he saw her.
She was beautiful.
She was cheering with the rest of the home crowd at the goal. Con brio yet dolce. It sounded musical, grazioso. He imagined her pink lips to be soft all the while willing himself to avoid the imaginative thoughts of her rosebuds brushing across his and trailing over his body.
The wind tousled her dark brown hair gently while the sun shone down on the silky strands. He realized with a start that her hair was dancing with upmost grace. Her lithe form was clad in her forest green kilt and a snow-white shirt. Both garments fluttered breezily with the melody of the light wind. She was beautiful. He devoured this sight of her. He wanted to play with the silky strands of hair. He wanted to hold her tiny lithe frame against his hard rough body. He wanted more than anything to play with the pin on her kilt and the buttons of her shirt.
He wanted her but couldn’t have her – he would never be good enough for her.
If she could have taken off her sunglasses she would have been able to see past the darken lenses. And realized that behind the hard victorious gleam shining from his eyes was a glimmer of sadness. And if he could have been able to see past the dark plastic then he wouldn’t have been just masked in joyous victory. He would have been truly happy.
Beautiful, but not good enough.