My Ophelia.
Lustrous dark red hair like newly burnished copper,
Glinting in the late afternoon sun.
Her piercing blue eyes,
Closed now,
Succumbed to the drowsy warmth,
The comfortable glow that envelops us both.
Her lips rounded, full, pouting, and slightly parted.
Her breath even and gentle now.
Her long locks cascading around her head,
And falling over her shoulder to cover one perfect , pert, breast.
I steal furtive glances.
Lest she catch me staring and become self conscious.
Her beauty almost painful to behold.
I am filled with the urge to just reach out and touch her.
To stroke her hair,
To run my finger across the line of her full lips.
Trace her jaw, her neck.
If it where not for the fact that I may wake her,
And to be thrown off the train and banned would be a little embarrassing as well.
Never fall in love on public transport.
Dedicated to yet another unknown beauty. Un-talked to, another beautiful ship passed close and left to continue it's voyage, unmolested. Actually that sounds bad, by unmolested I of course don't mean I physically bother people on the train, but I have been known to talk to the odd one or two and perhaps dislodge their psyche from the safe protected rails they have assumed were the way all people lived and thought, before encountering me. Even there I am not being honest. What I'm trying to say is, yet again I saw what I thought was a stunningly beautiful woman, and did the usual, dreamt and speculated but didn't actually talk to her. I could say another opportunity missed, but in all honesty I stick by the axiom that not every opportunity is an opportunity for me, no matter how enticing it appears. There is no joy nor profit made in spending your life pondering the what could have been, for reference see Ian Dury's “What a waste!”
Also refer to a TFL poster that simply said “If you are unhappy with your life, change it!”
Easy to say but difficult to do! I think not. It is you who builds the bars of your own cage. It is you who limits the expansion of your own life. Much as I do mine. We all have a monkey on our backs. the nagging doubt, the depression, the voice that assures us we cant be that good, that interesting, that attractive. What we fail to realise is that the other people around us have exactly the same doubts, the same fears. Some just hide them better than we do.
For instance. I am a man who lost a large portion of my hair by the time I was thirty. Now I live with comments and insults all the time. Even a one point when I was talking to a very attractive young lady at a bar. The barman (who was actually a friend of mine) made a comment along the usual lines of “oh my god what do you want with a slap head like him?”
I of course faltered and didn't pursue the matter any further. Two things. One, I was short, fat, balding, and older than the young lady before we had started the conversation, so why should it bother her just because he mentioned it now. My friend, the barman, was following an instinct that was ancient, the attempt to prove he was the alpha male. secondly (and to all individuals who think having a full head of hair is some advantage), if hair were really a factor in females finding a mate, then baldness would have been eradicated by natural selection millions of years ago. If women really cared they would not mate with bald men, there fore not reproducing the gene, there fore removing it from the gene pool. Quite simply bold blokes would not get laid, they would not have children, they would not reproduce.
To all you full head of hair (fascist) individuals, the day of the wig and the comb-over are gone. We no longer buy your bull shit. Don't stand there thinking that your hair is all it takes to win a woman. If all women thought like you then the only men that would exist are people that are all identical to you (i.e. vacuous tossers). Now you may think that's a good thing but I for one thank the gods your wrong.
I still didn't talk to her.
Glinting in the late afternoon sun.
Her piercing blue eyes,
Closed now,
Succumbed to the drowsy warmth,
The comfortable glow that envelops us both.
Her lips rounded, full, pouting, and slightly parted.
Her breath even and gentle now.
Her long locks cascading around her head,
And falling over her shoulder to cover one perfect , pert, breast.
I steal furtive glances.
Lest she catch me staring and become self conscious.
Her beauty almost painful to behold.
I am filled with the urge to just reach out and touch her.
To stroke her hair,
To run my finger across the line of her full lips.
Trace her jaw, her neck.
If it where not for the fact that I may wake her,
And to be thrown off the train and banned would be a little embarrassing as well.
Never fall in love on public transport.
Dedicated to yet another unknown beauty. Un-talked to, another beautiful ship passed close and left to continue it's voyage, unmolested. Actually that sounds bad, by unmolested I of course don't mean I physically bother people on the train, but I have been known to talk to the odd one or two and perhaps dislodge their psyche from the safe protected rails they have assumed were the way all people lived and thought, before encountering me. Even there I am not being honest. What I'm trying to say is, yet again I saw what I thought was a stunningly beautiful woman, and did the usual, dreamt and speculated but didn't actually talk to her. I could say another opportunity missed, but in all honesty I stick by the axiom that not every opportunity is an opportunity for me, no matter how enticing it appears. There is no joy nor profit made in spending your life pondering the what could have been, for reference see Ian Dury's “What a waste!”
Also refer to a TFL poster that simply said “If you are unhappy with your life, change it!”
Easy to say but difficult to do! I think not. It is you who builds the bars of your own cage. It is you who limits the expansion of your own life. Much as I do mine. We all have a monkey on our backs. the nagging doubt, the depression, the voice that assures us we cant be that good, that interesting, that attractive. What we fail to realise is that the other people around us have exactly the same doubts, the same fears. Some just hide them better than we do.
For instance. I am a man who lost a large portion of my hair by the time I was thirty. Now I live with comments and insults all the time. Even a one point when I was talking to a very attractive young lady at a bar. The barman (who was actually a friend of mine) made a comment along the usual lines of “oh my god what do you want with a slap head like him?”
I of course faltered and didn't pursue the matter any further. Two things. One, I was short, fat, balding, and older than the young lady before we had started the conversation, so why should it bother her just because he mentioned it now. My friend, the barman, was following an instinct that was ancient, the attempt to prove he was the alpha male. secondly (and to all individuals who think having a full head of hair is some advantage), if hair were really a factor in females finding a mate, then baldness would have been eradicated by natural selection millions of years ago. If women really cared they would not mate with bald men, there fore not reproducing the gene, there fore removing it from the gene pool. Quite simply bold blokes would not get laid, they would not have children, they would not reproduce.
To all you full head of hair (fascist) individuals, the day of the wig and the comb-over are gone. We no longer buy your bull shit. Don't stand there thinking that your hair is all it takes to win a woman. If all women thought like you then the only men that would exist are people that are all identical to you (i.e. vacuous tossers). Now you may think that's a good thing but I for one thank the gods your wrong.
I still didn't talk to her.
Technorati Tag: Red Head, Pre-Raphaelite, Love, Lust, Baldness, Futility, Hope, Attractiveness, Comb-Over, Ophelia, Sadness, Slap Head, meekon5.
Labels: Attractiveness, Baldness, Comb-Over, Futility, Hope, love, Lust, meekon5, Ophelia, Pre-Raphaelite, Red Head, Sadness, Slap Head
posted by meekon5 at 09:17
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