What is it. An um, a je ne sais pas, I don't know where to start. True, an acknowledgement of that unbeknownst predisposition for pretty eyes only furthers the argument for generality. But that can't be it. THE it. Perhaps behind, laying safe as they pierce, like cool blue steel, cutting sharp and intimidating.
I think the closest way to describe it would be that sense of naiveté that she pulls around your shoulders and lets hang loose like a blanket, comforting. It's the way she talks to you. Who me? Yes, a reserved excitement inadvertently enforced with a slight up-tick at the corner of her mouth, lips pursed suppressing a smile. And she has an affinity for interesting conversation, or more specifically the seemingly whimsical, yet engaged goings-on in her life. My outlook pales in comparison. She is no doubt, an interesting person, disarmingly so and with a certain humility that slides in like a foot in the door, letting her light through. Et oui voilá, therein lies the finger prick.
Or not.
And fuck cocaine. (note time)
