Her palms were sweating and her feet dangled as she sat on the edge of the bed.
The color of her gown was nude. Her nails were nude; her toes were painted nude. The irony. Her favorite color, a color that she wore faithfully, depicts more than her style but the lifestyle she submits to. Her feet continued to dangle. She watched them swing, barely scraping the ground beneath her.
I could not figure out what was on her mind. Was she praying? Preparing? Or just simply nervous? But her being nervous makes absolutely no sense. I know she is not nervous because she’s no subtle women, her body owns her and I know she uses it to the best of her ability.
I watched, trying to figure her out. But I was too distracted, my heart was about to jump out of my chest. It’s not her first time, I know it’s not, but it’s mine… continue reading