3/12/11

Too Perfect
By Mariya Smith



She stared out the window and saw the sky starting to cover itself with a blanket of clouds. The blues and grays mixed perfectly to form a sort of happy feeling, making this particular weather her favorite kind. She knew that it was something that couldn’t have been recreated unless it was there, hovering beautifully above her. But she had to admit that the happiness she felt wasn’t all because of the gorgeous sky, some of it was due to a certain individual of the male species. The two were currently on their fourth date. Nothing too romantic: just a small coffee shop on a corner of their equally small town.

They had talked most of their day away there, mainly enjoying each other’s presence, but also listening and learning. She noticed his glossy lips found it hard to believe that in the week and a half they had been seeing each, that the lips hadn’t once touched hers. Maybe it was because they were both too shy and afraid of what the other might think. Or do. Or say. But another possibility was that they didn’t even want any of that, They didn’t need it.

She had thought about it plenty of times, but the timing was never right. The excuses she would give ran along the lines of too cold, too hot, too cliché, too anything. Today it was too public. If he had kissed her here, he would have seemed very show-offish, and no girl wanted a snob. So, she decided to wait until the next beautiful moment she had with him, since there were so many.

Just as expected from such weather, raindrops started to plummet softly onto the ground and the faint blue sky suddenly turned a harsh gray, “We should probably go now. The car is parked pretty far away,” he said; his desire to stay suddenly dashed by a lapse in sunlight.

They started to jog toward the car which was parked nearly four blocks from the coffee shop, but the rain began to fall faster than they could run. They were quickly soaked. She stopped jogging even though they still had two blocks left. All hope was lost. He stopped as well and walked back towards her. She took a glance at him, taking everything in. The way his wet hair fell into his face was wonderful. His smile made her smile. The fact that he wanted to just stand in the rain there staring at her rather than rushing off to the warm, dry car made her grab onto his wet shirt. The fact that, more than anything, she felt more beautiful there, soaking wet, than she could in any amount of make-up or dressy clothes made her take a step towards him.

He moved in, closer to her, not letting her think long enough to consider the cons of him kissing her right then, right there. It was just too- too perfect.


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I write. Constantly. Words and poems and stories are always floating through my head, waiting to transfer themselves through a G2 onto a piece of paper. I don't smoke cigarettes, though I have and I don't mind sleeping in cars in Virginia.