Tell Me About Her
Tell Me About Her
Do you see that girl all dressed up, walking down the sidewalk? Well, I wouldn't exactly call it walking. You could say she’s strutting, because that’s the only way to walk in high heels. What’s that? You don’t see her? You’re going to have to look real close. There are a lot of people milling around Washington D.C. This isn't the typical rural suburbia you’re used to. Ah, you've spotted her. There she is. I bet you couldn't tell me more than one or two things about her based upon your observation, but that’s because you’re not really looking, are you? Let’s start then.
Her hair is crafted into a sleek chignon, which tells me that she is going somewhere of importance, and also that she is a perfectionist since practically every hair is lying flat in obedience. Now, look at her clothes. The absence of wrinkles further goes to prove that she is meticulous, and also that she cares about the way she looks. This is not the type of girl who ever steps out of her apartment in sweatpants and an oversize t-shirt. The creases in her blazer are steak knife sharp, and there are no stubborn folds in her skirt that form from sitting down. Her skirt also hits right above the knee, and her top is Marilyn Monroe style: “Snug enough to show she’s a woman, but loose enough to prove she’s a lady”. At this point I can almost tell you without looking, that her choice of jewelry is pearls because I've already figured out that she is a girl of high class.
She has wisdom and a maturity that others her age don’t have – at least not yet. I can tell she longs for the day when she no longer has to associate on a daily basis with anyone who does not fit in the circle of high class that she does. But, I can tell you that even though girls like her are rarer than an open parking spot in Boston, she’s humble. She’s not completely confident in herself. You can tell by the way she holds her head high, but occasionally she will allow her eyes to find the concrete she’s walking on top of, as if to remind herself where she has come from.
Take a look at the way she moves, though. She doesn't plod the way inexperienced girls wearing six-inch heels do. She moves with effortlessness and grace, while at the same time firing out a fierce confidence that only comes after years of struggle with insecurity. Her sensitive blue eyes squint against the sun when it decides to make its bold appearance, and she knows that people stop for a moment and watch her as she walks by. Some in loving envy, others with a feeling of inspiration, but she doesn't want them to. Deep down inside something tells her she’d rather go unnoticed. But, she wasn't born for that. She was born to be an example, to be noticed.
See, now she’s rounding the corner, and she keeps walking, but I know that guy standing at the crosswalk caught her eye, because I heard the quiet, sharp intake of air, and the faintest of rose crawling through the careful mask she wears. Notice how she’s nonchalantly looking back for a second, just to catch another glimpse of him before turning around, and with a sigh, accepting the fact that she’s never going to see him again.
Now, she’s pulling open the door of Starbucks, drinking the coffee through her nose, and a smile flits across her gentle lips because she’s remembering a wonderful memory from yesterday. And I can’t wait until she politely turns around to hold the door for the person behind her, because she’ll see him, trying to hide that he’s out of breath from running. Today, she won’t be opposed to being noticed.
Her hair is crafted into a sleek chignon, which tells me that she is going somewhere of importance, and also that she is a perfectionist since practically every hair is lying flat in obedience. Now, look at her clothes. The absence of wrinkles further goes to prove that she is meticulous, and also that she cares about the way she looks. This is not the type of girl who ever steps out of her apartment in sweatpants and an oversize t-shirt. The creases in her blazer are steak knife sharp, and there are no stubborn folds in her skirt that form from sitting down. Her skirt also hits right above the knee, and her top is Marilyn Monroe style: “Snug enough to show she’s a woman, but loose enough to prove she’s a lady”. At this point I can almost tell you without looking, that her choice of jewelry is pearls because I've already figured out that she is a girl of high class.
She has wisdom and a maturity that others her age don’t have – at least not yet. I can tell she longs for the day when she no longer has to associate on a daily basis with anyone who does not fit in the circle of high class that she does. But, I can tell you that even though girls like her are rarer than an open parking spot in Boston, she’s humble. She’s not completely confident in herself. You can tell by the way she holds her head high, but occasionally she will allow her eyes to find the concrete she’s walking on top of, as if to remind herself where she has come from.
Take a look at the way she moves, though. She doesn't plod the way inexperienced girls wearing six-inch heels do. She moves with effortlessness and grace, while at the same time firing out a fierce confidence that only comes after years of struggle with insecurity. Her sensitive blue eyes squint against the sun when it decides to make its bold appearance, and she knows that people stop for a moment and watch her as she walks by. Some in loving envy, others with a feeling of inspiration, but she doesn't want them to. Deep down inside something tells her she’d rather go unnoticed. But, she wasn't born for that. She was born to be an example, to be noticed.
See, now she’s rounding the corner, and she keeps walking, but I know that guy standing at the crosswalk caught her eye, because I heard the quiet, sharp intake of air, and the faintest of rose crawling through the careful mask she wears. Notice how she’s nonchalantly looking back for a second, just to catch another glimpse of him before turning around, and with a sigh, accepting the fact that she’s never going to see him again.
Now, she’s pulling open the door of Starbucks, drinking the coffee through her nose, and a smile flits across her gentle lips because she’s remembering a wonderful memory from yesterday. And I can’t wait until she politely turns around to hold the door for the person behind her, because she’ll see him, trying to hide that he’s out of breath from running. Today, she won’t be opposed to being noticed.