He loved watching her walk.
Quite often he was more punctual than her...and she was often quite late...but that was okay because he could find a vantage point, a view...a perch to allow himself one of the great gaits he had ever seen.
Her walking towards him was like a sunrise...a golden moment that was filled with possibilities and warmth...a stolen, delicate and fleeting time that took her from her distance to him. It was a movie, with those old black and white still photos that you flipped in your hand and the character moved in stop-motion...Her walk to him was the first sounds of a favorite song...one memorized for years...permanent imprint...you moved your mouth to the words unconsciously...like the way his mouth moved anticipating her song on his lips.
Her hips swayed like a girl in a Tom Petty song...she clearly had movement...like a fingerprint to him that was so unique to her...he could see it in his sleep if lucky enough...one time at an airport a sign had kept him from any angle above her shoulders and he knew it was her walking towards him. It was that ingrained...primeval...pure and maybe even reincarnate.
It was subtle...slight...just enough movement to be noticeable to someone paying enough attention...it was catwalk sure and comfortable in her own skin...whether in heels or flats...tall or taller...and he loved it mostly when she arrived and the first thing she did was remove her shoes.
It wasn't the last thing removed, but the shoes tended to be the very first.
Her walk towards was foreplay...her walk away was depression.
He hated watching her go, for a billion reasons...but if nothing else he did get to watch her walk...even if going away for him for a bit.
It just meant she would be walking towards him next time.
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