She looked amazing when her hair was wet. A collection of curls and darkness and so unlike the daytime portrait that she displayed. Her naturalness was enticing, the way you sought out colors in an Autumn, waiting for the peak. But she always possessed the peak. She just happened to only reveal it over time so it never reached an apex, but rather like a road unraveling in front of you with each minute and mile growing even more compelling...you wanted more...you needed more.
She was as quiet as a lone highway. The times when the only noise was the wind and speed and a car cutting slews into the air...she kept herself contained. It was sometimes maddening. Rather the hope that the vast horizon would open her up with its distance and endless expanse...it seemed to humble her. And keep her silent.
What are you thinking about? was a sentence she hated. Her mind was not a museum...to be visited, studied and remarked upon. Rather instead it was a vault.
Every once in awhile she whispered what was in it.
Like when you're driving and the lanes are open before you...just a blackness but an openness that is unyielding and allowing you to move forward with no threat of stopping...when the sun is low, like a butter colored orb over a stark stand of trees and a song comes on that is like a soundtrack of the past. And the relaxation and calmness that happens...it just happens.
Like when you step away from the tub, still dripping warm waters, but allowing the towel to embrace you.
Engulf you...the way she stared at you, with her encyclopedia of emotions behind her eyes, and perhaps she shared a note or two.
She was this beautiful journey, through the nooks and valleys...through the running of stop signs and danger. She alone was the way you feel when you suddenly braked or avoided a car careening near you. She got your attention...she grabbed you by the throat...not in a hard way, but rather in a way that you allowed. Like buckling up, she put an arm around you. But you trusted her to care.
Mostly you wanted her to arrive.
To come home, or be there. You wanted her to finish. You wanted her to be relieved. To relax. You wanted her to exhaust herself against you, to hear her breathe your name against your ear. You wanted her to be spent, but only after the trip with you. All I cared about was maybe being beside her.
It's hard to define beauty.
Perhaps it is best defined by the desire to spend the time with her...the hours, the minutes, the miles that we could share and be beside another...listening to the music, watching the slow arc of suns...no rain...golden afternoons on highways...sunsets at gas stations...twilight in traffic. Let me spend those moments beside her, if only to be beside her.
For she is the journey that is unrivaled, and unequaled. Her and her curled hair and her auburn stare.
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