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Jul. 9th, 2009 08:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bitchy_merlinpeople i have known...
Lyndsey has a background in nursing.
She's very pretty. The beautiful kind of pretty, so pretty that it's hard to look her in the eye when she talks to you, because you can't quite believe someone could ever be that gorgeous. She's got the deep, soulful eyes and the rich, lustrous mahogany hair that you yearn to pull out of its neat bun and run your fingers through. Her complexion is warm, and her cheeks are honest-to-God rosy, and the world gets a little bit brighter every time she smiles. Her teeth are very white.
It's hard to look her in the eye when she talks, because the sight of those lovely, sparkling eyes takes your breath away, so you stare vacantly at her hands; they look soft and well-cared-for, and the thought of maybe squeezing them gently starts an ache low in your belly. She's slim and young, and very good-looking, her body slim and supple. The way her luxurious hair falls in her eyes is like a small miracle; you can't help but stare and stare and stare... If it were possible to drink her in, devour her with your eyes, well. But the feel of your gaze trained on her face must register, and she looks up from her stack of patient reports, and the corner of her delectable pink mouth curves upward slightly (her lips are just the right fullness; they look so soft and inviting, and you wish...) But her calm, quiet voice pulls you out of your brief dream, as she explains what she's writing. PIVs and physiotherapy requisitions have somehow never seemed so beautiful.
I can't help but think of how she reminds me of Ashley. Her hair is longer, slightly darker, and where Ashley is anger and sharp edges, Lyndsey is a calm and graceful quiet, a soothing hum to Ashley's roar. But they style their hair the same way. And I wonder.
God, but Ashley's beautiful. Still that image of her in the blazing red silk blouse and work slacks (don't forget the heels) standing on the subway platform, running a hand through her short hair and in all the rush and rub of the seething, tumbling crowd, there was only her.
Lyndsey has a background in nursing.
She's very pretty. The beautiful kind of pretty, so pretty that it's hard to look her in the eye when she talks to you, because you can't quite believe someone could ever be that gorgeous. She's got the deep, soulful eyes and the rich, lustrous mahogany hair that you yearn to pull out of its neat bun and run your fingers through. Her complexion is warm, and her cheeks are honest-to-God rosy, and the world gets a little bit brighter every time she smiles. Her teeth are very white.
It's hard to look her in the eye when she talks, because the sight of those lovely, sparkling eyes takes your breath away, so you stare vacantly at her hands; they look soft and well-cared-for, and the thought of maybe squeezing them gently starts an ache low in your belly. She's slim and young, and very good-looking, her body slim and supple. The way her luxurious hair falls in her eyes is like a small miracle; you can't help but stare and stare and stare... If it were possible to drink her in, devour her with your eyes, well. But the feel of your gaze trained on her face must register, and she looks up from her stack of patient reports, and the corner of her delectable pink mouth curves upward slightly (her lips are just the right fullness; they look so soft and inviting, and you wish...) But her calm, quiet voice pulls you out of your brief dream, as she explains what she's writing. PIVs and physiotherapy requisitions have somehow never seemed so beautiful.
I can't help but think of how she reminds me of Ashley. Her hair is longer, slightly darker, and where Ashley is anger and sharp edges, Lyndsey is a calm and graceful quiet, a soothing hum to Ashley's roar. But they style their hair the same way. And I wonder.
God, but Ashley's beautiful. Still that image of her in the blazing red silk blouse and work slacks (don't forget the heels) standing on the subway platform, running a hand through her short hair and in all the rush and rub of the seething, tumbling crowd, there was only her.
