The Beauty of the Ride

Like the majority of the attention from beautiful women in my life, it was a brief one-sided affair.  A quickly ordered drink, alongside an equally quickly stolen glance, had confirmed my fondness for the lady serving the said goods.  She was older than I was by a decade or two, but I could see beauty in those years, her blonde hair accentuating her beautifully full figure.  A smile was playing fast and loose on her Nordic face, with full lips that I dreamt of kissing.  Thoughts lingered as I imagined her in the throes of passion, of the love that would consume whole days and weeks in warm beds in the depths of winter, on light sheets in the heat of the summer.  There was a radiance in her eyes that I thought had once been in mine but I wasn’t sure anymore.  Instead of delving further I took my place to sit, to read quietly in the cathedral of learning.

Love, in all its many forms, can be intoxicating, and whilst I have had my share I yearn yet still for more.  Perhaps it is the human condition.  Perhaps I am a hopeless romantic.  Perhaps I have been in the desert for far too long.

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