Orabelle

ORABELLE

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I knew she had the most marvellous yet courteous charisma I've ever dealt with but this newfound perspective of mine is very much sweeping me off my feet, the television worthy kind.

'Well at least I won't write a poem about her,' I said to myself. But we all know now how that turned out be. 

'Please excuse my peasant-like attire, I didn't think I would be going out today,' she said whilst looking irresistibly gracious. 

Why do I feel like she's this impeccable version of what I was supposed to be all along? I know it's debatable and a surplus of me to say that she's this lovely expression of divine virtue. That she's this wallflower that's meant to stand out instead of just blending in with the other roses accommodated with incessant thorns of spite and hoax. 

And I know it's pret

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ty cliché and obvious of me to say that every time her fingers 'accidentally' curled around mine, I would think about defying the laws of gravity to fantasize about how magnificent it would be if our lips were to combine into one while we were still trying to find each other in this floating world of infinite earth and dimensions. 

She giggled a lot that day. A perfect mixture of tingle and pitch. I never knew I would love the sound of a giggle so profoundly as much as I love the sound of music. It's clear that her jawline was flawless accentuating her already aphrodite like face, but that's not why I fell for her at that exact moment of admiration, guilt and exploration. Falling in love with her was like falling in love with myself all over again. Doesn't really make sense, does it? But then again, for me, love doesn't make sense either.