The feminine to be desired and the masculine who desires.
Her effortless guile and grace, gathering the glances of those around her. She glides across the ground, her gown flowing with each gentle gust of wind. Her focus is unbothered. Her green eyes, large and bright like two fine emeralds, float across the horizon, taking in the beauty of the sky and clouds. Her beautiful face, with a refined, genteel countenance, softly turns atop her slender neck towards nothing in particular.
His dumb gaze, his blank visage, completely enamored with her unfathomable beauty. His arms, limp and dangling, his jaw, slack and drooling. His body abandoned by his faculties, which has entirely focused on the object of desire before him. His head turns mechanically, a turret tracking the maiden as she walks by his post. His entire being has dedicated itself towards his effort of desiring, only leaving behind enough operative capacity for himself to breathe, though raggedly at that.
She does not even notice him. For him, at that moment, she is his entire world.
Her mind is occupied with something or another, a mystery to all but her. One may look at her and perhaps believe that, due to her remarkable allure, it must be that she is perhaps occupied with admiration for her own beauty. Could it be, when it all appears to be so effortless? She seems so indifferent to the manner. Surely she is at least aware of the desire which her form inspires in others. But to expect her to be aware of all in who she inspires desire? How absurd.
His mind is empty of all but her. One may look at him and will be all but convinced that he is solely occupied with admiration for her beauty. His eyes exist solely as receptacles of her image, targets attempting to capture every single ray of light which reflects off her delicate form. His eyelids forced open, as though pasted to his eyebrows, lest he blink and miss even a moment of her presence. He loses himself, and in that moment in which she walks past his life, no sound is heard, nothing else is seen, nothing else is felt aside from pure desire.
And that moment then passes. She has walked on, and he has been left there. To her, nothing of note has occurred. He had not even entered into her mind for a moment. To him, nothing could have been more of note. Her beauty had enveloped his mind, overtaken his faculties, and aroused his desire, and he will surely remember this moment.
That is, until the next girl walks by.
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