The impression's been made, even from at this distance. She's beautiful. Already, with eyes closed, the tone and accent of her voice match with the impression. Even from at this distance.
A sleeveless cowl-necked top exposes shoulders slouched just a little, sadness revealed on the horizon of her torso. Sun-embraced skin glistens as a foreign easterly attempts to reassure her with cooled ocean air and a whisper of encouragement. She does not look in his direction, instead shifting away. He enjoys the brief image of windswept strands of brunette semaphore.
Loneliness has settled within her, but the desire to be held did not relent, escaping from her imagination in the form of surreptitious tears. Salt-water slides below sunglassed eyes, emphasizing the lines of a turned neck screaming to be tasted. She continues to avoid him, instead gazing to the ground beneath her own feet. An upturn in the wind creates a silhouette of winged coiffure.
Fears of rejection nearly overwhelm her, threatening to dim such a luminescent smile. The sea breeze pauses and wings gently fold into a cleft so lasciviously captivating, sensation reminding that the world is a wonder to behold with head held high. She makes eye contact, but for an instant, and sees the desire in a stranger's eyes. Her own hand caresses her breast, sweeping her hair behind her, a moment reminiscent of angel bearing tressed halo.
In spite of the agony her in visage, the anguish in her heart, there is a part of her always smiling. As smooth and reflective as the beauty who wears it. She knows she's beautiful. And the confidence affords her the grace to walk on by.