There she sits, the soft orange lights of he restaurant falling pleasantly on her fair Chinese skin, the almond-shaped Oriental face that white men lust for since the colonials set sail from the European shores.
courtesy of deviantart.com
Her fine jet black eye-lashes and the scarlet lips all the more beautiful against that gentle face. Her dark eyes all the more intense against that porcelain. She sips her tea. I cannot deny the soft jazz playing in the background adds to this romantic notion.
There is a flash of light in the near distance; a small digital metalbox just captured a 12-megapixel memory.
She stares intensely at her Macbook; her jasmine eyes all the more alluring; she is more than a pretty-face. She is a flower of intellect.
Another flash goes off.
Her dark hair is carefully parted down the centre. She makes grace look so easy; the way she leans to one side, the way she gets up ever so gently. She calls the waiter over and speaks to him; I can only stare at her lips move up and down like a aphrodisiac as they part to reveal white porcelain teeth and a world of possibilities.
A world of possibilities with limited probabilities.
I wish I could sit and sketch a portrait of her, knowing full well that whatever the canvas produces will not in one bit do her justice. But at the very least it serves as a reminder of the possibility of human beauty. Her pearl earrings capture my attention. Simple pearls. Beauty in simplicity. My heart tightens a little as my eyes sketch her perfect nose. At least from here, she looks perfect; you never know in the age of prevalent cosmetics. Its a plastics world.
"if a face could launch a thousand ships..."
But I must go; I have to drive off back to reality, and only allow her to reside in my what-ifs. For now. The shift from possibility to probability sometimes is one that is beyond our control.
courtesy of deviantart.comUncle T
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