The Privilege of Being Beautiful
It is so hard to look her in the eye. Her steady eyes are confident like her character, unafraid of what the world has to show her. Her welcoming smile never breaks and naturally seduces like the mid-afternoon sun. Her gaze is enchanting and I have to remind myself to breathe.
My mind races for words to say, those that come out stumble across my tongue in incoherency. She laughs with a warmth so inviting it is contagious. I smile, recovering from my embarrassment. Soon, the discussion ends with a disappointing silence. Her beautiful stare forces me to look away (I do not want her to think I am staring at her). But alas, she thinks the conversation is over, and walks away.
Why does she do it to me? Is it to torture me? I guess it is a privilege of being beautiful. A glance across the lunchroom table and I am already sweating. Was that for me? Or did a glimmering spark from the window catch her eye. Love is paranoia when you think about it.
Later on, I glance up at the same time she does. Both our eyes meet for one split second in time. In this moment, this quick spark of fate, a shiver runs through my body. Why can't I be with a girl like this?
But if I shared my feelings, I know what she would say. It was really nice of me to say that to her, and my words were really sweet. But she is not looking for someone right now. Girls like her can not be mean; it is not in their nature. But her considerate words wouldn't lessen the impact. I could never be the same around her again.
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