There are 3 seats between me and the girl next to me.  Around 6 feet away. She’s tall, 5 ft 12, maybe more. Slender arms, sculpted legs. She has a thin waist, but not toned. The ample nature of her breasts make up for the slight slip of skin that rolls at her belt. Her back is slightly arched, I don’t think she has good posture. Of course I say that and then straighten myself so as to make sure I cant be looked down upon for saying such a slanderous thing. She’s drinking coffee. Her nails are clipped, either a bitter or has a manual job. Fearing that, she just doesn’t care for over the top appearances. Her fingers aren’t as long as they should be for a woman her length. She has unkempt hair, pillow fresh, but she doesn’t appear to be too worried about it. a push behind the ears, evidence would apparently dictate, is all that’s needed. Is she beautiful? Is she proud? Does she stare into the eyes of others when their not looking and wonder what they are? She’s not patient. I don’t think she can resist her temptations. What is it she fears? What stops her still in the middle of the street and forces her to question her right to carry on with her day safe in the knowledge of what she could be found out of? Would she care is the secret got out anyway? She’s a universe unto herself. She’s an emotion so raw it scathes the core of my being, dying to be let in, cursing to be drenched in another tainted soul. She’d writhe around my head, forever demanding more. She’d sell me the second hand promises she forged from the mould  the first time she meant them. crawling on her knees in front of me, she’d tower over everything I wanted and make me let her ask for more. She’d extinguish all my desires in a flaunted gaze at others, I’d tears myself to ribbons to have her look back. She’ll pretend I’m the drug she needs to stop the disease she made for her own amusement. . she’ll be all of this and never know it. she’ll never recall my face, she’ll never hear my voice. We’re worlds away.