Aurora
one.
She was the type of girl that had stars instead of eyes and rose petals for lips. I swear to god it was like Rumpelstiltskin had spun her hair out of gold and her skin was made out of the finest Chinese porcelain. What I'm trying to get across is that she was nothing short of perfection. She was something of a dream, something majestic, something you only read about in fairy tales.
That's why when she introduced herself as Aurora, I half expected to wake from a dream. Her voice was even magic sounding. Like those wind chimes that your grandma has on her porch that fills the summer breeze with the most delightful tinkling noise. Anything more would have been too much, but anything less would have left a hole in your memory. Perhaps that's how Aurora was, when I sat down and really thought about her.
No, she wasn't a wind chime, because those stayed fixed to the porch and were around through storms and the dark and year after year. Aurora wasn't. She was the wind. She was the wind that you couldn't see, but you always felt it blowing through your hair. She was there for a moment and then gone just when you were thankful she was there. A wild spirit.
Meeting Aurora scarred me, I think. Because now whenever I meet any other girl I don't think of them as individuals, I think of how they compare to Aurora. And of course, none of them do. They're too tall or too short or too skinny or too fat or their laugh is too shrill or their voice is too raspy.
I can still close my eyes and imagine the night I met her at a house party. I could smell her before I saw her. Roses in the wind. I was looking through the house owner's CD collection with a beer bottle in my hand. She waltzed up behind me and snatched my beer out of my hand. After she took a swig out of it she pressed her lips to the soft spot under my earlobe and put her free hand on the nape of my neck, pulling herself as close to me as she could get. I remember feeling my knees wanting to buckle and my hands started sweating as they dangled by my sides awkwardly.
"I'm Aurora," she purred, "and I'll love you tonight and leave you by dawn." I can say a whole lot about that girl, but one thing I can't say is that she's a liar.
That's why when she introduced herself as Aurora, I half expected to wake from a dream. Her voice was even magic sounding. Like those wind chimes that your grandma has on her porch that fills the summer breeze with the most delightful tinkling noise. Anything more would have been too much, but anything less would have left a hole in your memory. Perhaps that's how Aurora was, when I sat down and really thought about her.
No, she wasn't a wind chime, because those stayed fixed to the porch and were around through storms and the dark and year after year. Aurora wasn't. She was the wind. She was the wind that you couldn't see, but you always felt it blowing through your hair. She was there for a moment and then gone just when you were thankful she was there. A wild spirit.
Meeting Aurora scarred me, I think. Because now whenever I meet any other girl I don't think of them as individuals, I think of how they compare to Aurora. And of course, none of them do. They're too tall or too short or too skinny or too fat or their laugh is too shrill or their voice is too raspy.
I can still close my eyes and imagine the night I met her at a house party. I could smell her before I saw her. Roses in the wind. I was looking through the house owner's CD collection with a beer bottle in my hand. She waltzed up behind me and snatched my beer out of my hand. After she took a swig out of it she pressed her lips to the soft spot under my earlobe and put her free hand on the nape of my neck, pulling herself as close to me as she could get. I remember feeling my knees wanting to buckle and my hands started sweating as they dangled by my sides awkwardly.
"I'm Aurora," she purred, "and I'll love you tonight and leave you by dawn." I can say a whole lot about that girl, but one thing I can't say is that she's a liar.
♠ ♠ ♠
I'm doing the 100 Themes Challenge and this is number one, "Introduction."