But there’s still one thing I need to ask her that I’m itching to know.
“Why are you in a bikini?”
“Hot tubbing,” is all the answer she gives.
That seems valid enough, having a little photoshoot before makes sense when you’re as hot as her. Shit, I would too. Okay, I’m going to head out now before I say anything else embarrassing.
“Well, it was nice running into you,” I say to break the tension. “hopefully I’ll see you around.”
All she does is stare at me.
She takes a step back and says, “Uhh yeah, see you around.” Then she walks away.
Her friend follows her, but after giving me a strange stare down.
And just like that, the woman of my dreams leaves my life just as fast as she came into it. I’ll probably never see her again. Not that she would want to be with a guy like me anyways. I’m a snowboard junkie who eats, breathes, and sleeps my sport. I’m pretty broke and live in a small apartment with my roommate. I have nothing going for me except my looks and a girl like that probably expects it all: beauty, brains, and money. Stuff I cannot give her. Oh well, it was fun to delude myself for a bit.
I snap myself out of this trance so I can finish my run, focusing on the soft powder ahead of me, making sure I don’t run into any more tourists in green bikinis. Once I do, I unstrap my boots from my board and walk to my car.
While I’m waiting for the car to warm, my mind can’t stop thinking about the girl in the green bikini. I need to see her again. I just don’t know how that will be possible. What if she needs lessons? I could be the one to teach and catch her if she falls again.
I get home in a jiffy, but feel like something’s missing. That beautiful blonde really did a number on me. It’s like her eyes contained a spell, and from the moment I looked upon them I was under it.
I walk through the door of my apartment in a daze. I remove my beanie and let my body fall into the cushions of my couch. I don’t know what it is but I feel different.
Good different.
Derek appears from his room.
“Oh no, what happened?” he asks.
“I met a girl,” I tell him.
“Dude,” he says laughing, “you’re fucked.”
Like I don’t already know.
I go to my room and get undressed; I wrap my towel around my waist and head over to the shower. I need to wake myself up from this dream.
It has to be a dream. Right?
I hop in and let the warm water hit me. It feels numbing at first, since I was just outside in the cold. I let the water do its thing. I’m too tall to be directly under the head, so I let it hit me on the back to warm me up.
I was hoping the piping hot water would distract me, but all it’s done is increase my cravings. My mind is racing with thoughts of that precious snowflake. Her smile, perfectly straight and dazzling white. Her hair, the way it falls near her belly button. Her long legs and round boobs. Yes, I saw her boobs. It was hard not to notice when they were practically falling out of her bikini. But I’m a gentleman, so I didn’t stare for too long.
But it was her eyes that captured me. Her eyes told a story. A story of hope, and I feel like I need to know how that story ends.
Thinking about this girl has me feeling inspired. Maybe I should write some poetry. I am such a hopeless romantic. I haven’t written a poem in a long time, but maybe now I have a new muse.
I love writing poetry about my memories. It’s like taking a picture but with words.
I used to write as a form of therapy. As a guy, it’s hard to channel my feelings and be okay when society says it’s wrong to express them. I for one think that the standard for guys to suppress their feelings is bullshit, but still I’m not going to go around talkingabout mine if no one gives a shit. So, instead of bottling it all up I use poetry as a release.
Although, I would never tell any of my friends that. They would just laugh.
I turn the water off and hop out into the steamy air. I towel-dry and head to my room looking for one of my old notebooks that I used to write my thoughts in.
I find one that’s been half-used and flip the pages until I find a blank one. Once I’m on the page and hovering over the white space with a pencil, the words just pour out of me.
