7 Seconds

The More Precious Seven Seconds

I could literally feel the heat she emitted through the little space between us. She stood in front of me, inspecting her dress with an off gaze. She wasn't here in her homecoming dress. She was in some story she'd write at 3 AM, later on. I had approached her, and she needed not to see the reflection to know I had come behind her.
That was the first desire, come to her. If there was anything I could truly say was irresistible, it would be the way she smelled...the smell of perfume, strawberries, and something I could never put my fingers on.
She had chosen to leave her hair down, and the length of it embraced her in a most graceful way. The blonde color made her white skin glow slightly more than usual. Enough to drive a good man mad.
The material of her dress was a simple one, soft to the touch, and a dark green color. It modestly covered her, but the top of her shoulder remained exposed and I could see each of her freckles along them. The adorable freckles I dreamed about counting, if she would lay asleep with me.
She was gorgeous, just as any moment I saw her. She took in mind every detail to please me. She often did so.
In this moment she was quiet. She wasn't always so quiet, she was actually probably one of the loudest girls I had met, but most of what she said to me didn't come through words. It was the way she closed her eyes when she...laughed, when she cried over something that touched her, and when she fell asleep on my couch, or my bed. My heart just ached with how precious she looked, glowing with the innocence of a sleeping child.
She closed her eyes in the next moment in front of me, and I could have cried to my creator my gratitude that she'd almost read my mind and that she knew me, and I knew her. So well.
I wrapped my arms around her, I softly bit her neck and I felt her smile. Both our eyes were then closed. She whispered in return, “I adore you.”
She had quoted me, as if I was some kind of inspiration to her. But I knew when she turned to face me, it wasn't just that she liked to repeat things I'd said to her throughout love letters, stories, and handwritten songs.
Looking into my eyes, neither of us were left with any words. No words could surpass this moment that was passing between us. Between her and I, no. But between us.
She closed her eyes, right there, a few inches away from me. I wanted to, she wanted me to. This was my invitation, and it gave me the greatest joy knowing that it would make her happy, glowing, her brilliant self that shined it's greatest when presented before me.
Our lips met.