Prism
by Josephine/Lizabel
email: tobyjo44@hotmail.com
Information:
Summary- Someone thinks about Tess
Classification- UC I suppose, no 'ship in particular
Archive-Anywhere! Just send me that URL of where it's going.
Feedback- PLEASE!!! just no flames, only constructive criticism.
Author's Note- This can be anyone thinking about Tess, but email me if you
want to know who it REALLY is.
Part One: Silver
I am in chemistry, but I can tell you, my mind is not on valence electrons.
All of my senses are take up with just one thing.
Her ear. The soft folds of skin as she is turned attentively towards the
teacher listening as if the periodic table were the one thing that will save
her. And I can only see the small sliver hoop earrings glittering in the
light from the overhead projector.
I can hardly breathe while witnessing the whispy tendrils of her hair
flitting over her ear.
How I want to be her hair, just to be that near to her, to be able to touch
her, and have her touch me in return, almost without thinking.
I am shocked back from this slow motion, this other universe where she and
I are the only ones in the room, by a calling of my name from the teacher
who is wondering if I can share with the class the electron configuration
of silver.
I cannot answer because I am thinking, why do I need sliver when I can look
at her?
Part Two: Periwinkle Blue
It is her hands which hold me now, for I am unable, it seems, to look away
from her slender fingers gently, but purposely pressing down each computer
key to type up an essay.
Her fingernails are painted periwinkle blue and she wears a ring of pewter
vines around the pinkie finger of her right hand.
She turns the page in her notebook, taking care not to let it rip, and
smooth it down, her palms pressing down the paper and her fingertips
straightening out the folds.
I absentmindedly run my own fingers across the keyboard wishing my hands
were as elegant, as royal as hers.
But I am feeling lost as the bell rings, and I am forced to tear my gaze
away.
Part Three: The Subtle Shade of Pink
I read somewhere that feet were supposedly the least attractive thing about
a person's body. I disagree. At this moment, when I am carefully removing
the flip-flops off her feet, so as not to disturb her sleeping form, I could
prove nothing else more wrong. The lavender shoes fall to the hard wood
floor with a muted clop that I hardly notice- I am too taken in by the
slenderness, the countours, and the subtle shade of pink with which she has
painted her toe nails. I am mesmerized by the delicacy with which her foot
becomes ankle, becomes calf, all unbelievably soft skin I notice as I dare
to blush a fingertip across her big toe.
She turns over in her shallow slumber and I am beyond startled, as I fall
back from kneeling next to her bed, to an immediately uncomfortable position
on the floor.
Worried I'll be caught staring at her feet of all things, I scramble to my
feet and try not to be heard as I back away from her bed and slip to of the
door.
Part Four: It is Like the Sky
I am tired of having to avoid her eyes, so this time I don't. It seems so
simple just to look an fall into the depths, the pools, the sky. And when
I do finally look right into her eyes, I realize it is like the sky, her
eyes, the milky white separated by a line of the purest blue I have ever
seen, fading slowly into the black center.
That black center seems to pull me in, to it's cavernous depths.
I must have been staring too long, because she looks away, and I feel as
thought I could fall. Just when I thought I would be lost, she turned back
to me and smiled.
And I think I floated.
Part Five: Rosy
She doesn't know what she does to me, lying there, almost within my reach.
She is stretched out on a lawn chair, tanning, wearing only a red bikini set
with tiny purple flowers scattered across it.
I look at her, and try not to make it obvious that I want to run my hands
across her stomach, just to prove the theory that her skin is as soft as I
imagine it, that it feels like the freshly bloomed petal of a rose.
As the sun begins to turn her skin rosy, I feel as though I shouldn't watch
any more, or I would do something I would regret, like go over to her,
stand in her sun, and tell her I've been staring at her for two months now,
and I think this rosy feeling I'm getting has more to do with her than she
knows.
Part Six: A Light Brown Dusting
I had never seen her without makeup on before now. And I realized with a
smile that she has freckles, a light brown dusting of them, sprinkled across
her nose and cheeks.
When she saw me watching her remove the thin base, she blushed, but not as
much as when she'd seen me watching before. I think she has come to accept
my staring, seeing as I couldn't seem to stop.
If I didn't keep my eyes on her always, I might miss something, and then
that light brown dusting of her in my life might disappear before I had a
chance to truly see it.
And that would be a shame.
Part Seven: Prism
I can see the whole of her now, and the radiating beauty I see nearly blinds
me. She is a prism of colors, and emotions, and feelings, and she's not
just a reflection.
She causes these colors, and emotions, and feelings to bloom in others, like
a prism separating ordinary light off into a rainbow, revealing purity and
shades we've never seen.
The End
by Josephine/Lizabel
email: tobyjo44@hotmail.com
Information:
Summary- Someone thinks about Tess
Classification- UC I suppose, no 'ship in particular
Archive-Anywhere! Just send me that URL of where it's going.
Feedback- PLEASE!!! just no flames, only constructive criticism.
Author's Note- This can be anyone thinking about Tess, but email me if you
want to know who it REALLY is.
Part One: Silver
I am in chemistry, but I can tell you, my mind is not on valence electrons.
All of my senses are take up with just one thing.
Her ear. The soft folds of skin as she is turned attentively towards the
teacher listening as if the periodic table were the one thing that will save
her. And I can only see the small sliver hoop earrings glittering in the
light from the overhead projector.
I can hardly breathe while witnessing the whispy tendrils of her hair
flitting over her ear.
How I want to be her hair, just to be that near to her, to be able to touch
her, and have her touch me in return, almost without thinking.
I am shocked back from this slow motion, this other universe where she and
I are the only ones in the room, by a calling of my name from the teacher
who is wondering if I can share with the class the electron configuration
of silver.
I cannot answer because I am thinking, why do I need sliver when I can look
at her?
Part Two: Periwinkle Blue
It is her hands which hold me now, for I am unable, it seems, to look away
from her slender fingers gently, but purposely pressing down each computer
key to type up an essay.
Her fingernails are painted periwinkle blue and she wears a ring of pewter
vines around the pinkie finger of her right hand.
She turns the page in her notebook, taking care not to let it rip, and
smooth it down, her palms pressing down the paper and her fingertips
straightening out the folds.
I absentmindedly run my own fingers across the keyboard wishing my hands
were as elegant, as royal as hers.
But I am feeling lost as the bell rings, and I am forced to tear my gaze
away.
Part Three: The Subtle Shade of Pink
I read somewhere that feet were supposedly the least attractive thing about
a person's body. I disagree. At this moment, when I am carefully removing
the flip-flops off her feet, so as not to disturb her sleeping form, I could
prove nothing else more wrong. The lavender shoes fall to the hard wood
floor with a muted clop that I hardly notice- I am too taken in by the
slenderness, the countours, and the subtle shade of pink with which she has
painted her toe nails. I am mesmerized by the delicacy with which her foot
becomes ankle, becomes calf, all unbelievably soft skin I notice as I dare
to blush a fingertip across her big toe.
She turns over in her shallow slumber and I am beyond startled, as I fall
back from kneeling next to her bed, to an immediately uncomfortable position
on the floor.
Worried I'll be caught staring at her feet of all things, I scramble to my
feet and try not to be heard as I back away from her bed and slip to of the
door.
Part Four: It is Like the Sky
I am tired of having to avoid her eyes, so this time I don't. It seems so
simple just to look an fall into the depths, the pools, the sky. And when
I do finally look right into her eyes, I realize it is like the sky, her
eyes, the milky white separated by a line of the purest blue I have ever
seen, fading slowly into the black center.
That black center seems to pull me in, to it's cavernous depths.
I must have been staring too long, because she looks away, and I feel as
thought I could fall. Just when I thought I would be lost, she turned back
to me and smiled.
And I think I floated.
Part Five: Rosy
She doesn't know what she does to me, lying there, almost within my reach.
She is stretched out on a lawn chair, tanning, wearing only a red bikini set
with tiny purple flowers scattered across it.
I look at her, and try not to make it obvious that I want to run my hands
across her stomach, just to prove the theory that her skin is as soft as I
imagine it, that it feels like the freshly bloomed petal of a rose.
As the sun begins to turn her skin rosy, I feel as though I shouldn't watch
any more, or I would do something I would regret, like go over to her,
stand in her sun, and tell her I've been staring at her for two months now,
and I think this rosy feeling I'm getting has more to do with her than she
knows.
Part Six: A Light Brown Dusting
I had never seen her without makeup on before now. And I realized with a
smile that she has freckles, a light brown dusting of them, sprinkled across
her nose and cheeks.
When she saw me watching her remove the thin base, she blushed, but not as
much as when she'd seen me watching before. I think she has come to accept
my staring, seeing as I couldn't seem to stop.
If I didn't keep my eyes on her always, I might miss something, and then
that light brown dusting of her in my life might disappear before I had a
chance to truly see it.
And that would be a shame.
Part Seven: Prism
I can see the whole of her now, and the radiating beauty I see nearly blinds
me. She is a prism of colors, and emotions, and feelings, and she's not
just a reflection.
She causes these colors, and emotions, and feelings to bloom in others, like
a prism separating ordinary light off into a rainbow, revealing purity and
shades we've never seen.
The End