People tend to be hypnotized and utterly fascinated by the mere fact that I smile more than most. Falsely labeled an optimist, my smiles aren’t exclusive to happiness.
I stand in front of the mirror so many girls have stood in front of, and attempt to smooth my hair and rid myself of any wandering beads of sweat. With my shirt caught on my hip, my navel is exposed but I don’t notice in my crazed desperation to re-discover my lip balm. I stop when my cold fingers are around my small cylinder, which holds an acidic memory…
The lightless street and warm, inviting air makes everything surreal. I’m carried on his back with my head resting on his shoulder and my arms hugging his neck. When my lips graze the area between his neck and shoulder, my honey-sweet balm politely allows me to smell it as it bounces off him. He shivers despite the absence of cold and he pulls me in closer to his warm body with lips trembling. I hug him deeper and try to fight off the frost that’s not there. He gazes back at me with his mouth open, but no sound escapes because in those moments, our eyes lock. He ceases to move and tightens his grasp on me, ironically making me slip down an inch on his back. He sets me gently back on earth, the space between us a little smaller. His heated ribbon-smooth breath dances romantically with my senses, making my lips quiver. The butter-yellow moon peering over his right shoulder grins approvingly in the last moments before his warm, soft hands reach out to my face and…
My capricious memory dissipates as I come into full realization that my friend has been talking animatedly the whole time.
“…you really are you know,” she says matter-of-factly.
“I am really what?” I question uninterestedly as she gazes at me through the glass.
“One of the prettiest girls I know.” Her round blue eyes look so child-like as she pays me this heart-felt compliment.
“You are…very pretty also,” I reply awkwardly. She doesn’t notice my hardness, but instead focuses only on the words I uttered. My lips turn to the bland ceiling and my unseeing eyes mask my preoccupation as we leave.
Later that night, I lay beneath stars strewn by hands across the night sky. I lay out there until I’m soaring above them, flying with the remnants of supernovas and basking in the glow of the moon. The moon illuminates everything around me that was unseen before. As I soar, the chilly, tingly air brushes the hair from my face, making my stomach join the heavens in an airy waltz. My eyes widen to a point past recognition as they take in all the hand-placed glimmers of treasure. My striking green adventure sets me in a state of awe. How could something so glorious be out of reach and sight? Dents come to my cheeks and my lips and teeth part, reflecting the gleeful shape of the half-crescent moon. My reflection mirrors all that I’m feeling, creating a curve of wonderment and excitement for the unknown.
Beams have many meanings. A watered-down grin with an unfamiliar look in my eyes hints vacancy and preoccupation. My bottom lip protruded and impressions in my cheeks clue harmless teasing. A condoling raise of my lips and a look of pity in my eyes show sympathy. Smiles never have one face, never one meaning. I believe smiles are in themselves, a deceptively complex language.
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