Photography for the Soul
Nov 1, 2008 12:32:40 GMT -5
Post by Kristen Cabell on Nov 1, 2008 12:32:40 GMT -5
۞ ۞ ۞ It was honestly pointless sitting in photography, with the object of your affections sitting so close. Talking about their latest subject. Not that Kristen could honestly say what he’d been talking about. She hadn’t been paying attention to his words. Just the way his lips moved, how perfect they looked from the distance. Imagining and fantasizing about how they’d feel against her creamy skin. Fantasizing about all the things he could actually do with those lips. For three years. Three, going on four, very long years of longing, she’d had enough. Enough waiting, enough anticipation and enough of dating people she didn’t really want or have any affection for. Except for Elijah, he’d been the only one she’d truly somewhat fallen for and even then it hadn’t been enough. They ended up deciding they’d be much better as friends, and she was free to ogle him once more. Same position everyday, same routine. Hands cupped under her chin, held up by her elbows resting on the hardness of her desk. Sighing at different intervals, not caring about the time and hoping class could just go on forever, as long as she got to look at him. As long as she got the pleasure of seeing him look back at her, at least once during the lesson. And she’d noticed, with hopeful eyes (or at least she thought she’d noticed, it could have been her mind playing tricks) that he looked often. Biting her lip, she sat back in her chair crossing her arms over her chest as she watched him pace. Watched him sit, watched him talk, watched his every movement with reflective adoration stemming back for three years. The familiarity in every movement, every quirk, everything he did was memorized in every part of her mind. The obsession had become ridiculous, even for her taste. But his poise and the way he carried himself, she couldn’t help but admire him. And she just wanted to know him. As more than Mr.Dale. She wanted to know him on a more personal note. Sure, they’d spoken before, in class, surrounded by classmates, maybe to answer a question or two – something she’d been doing more of, and making sure she studied enough to get the answers right. And sometimes in conversation that had nothing to do with photography. But it wasn’t enough anymore. She looked down at her paper, and noticed the doodles of his name and hers, surrounded by little bubbly hearts filled in with chickenscratch. The heat that rose in her cheeks was intense, because it’d gotten to the point where she just hadn’t noticed she’d been doing it anymore. A small, squeal like screech fell from her lips as she accidentally knocked the book on the floor, immediately standing to scramble after it and knocking over her chair. “Sorry!” she screamed out, placing a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry!” she shrieked, gathering up everything she’d knocked over. |
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