I Miss Innocence
I was three years old. Sitting on a metal bench, my tiny legs dangled back and forth, as if I was on a swing at a playground. I was nowhere near a playground, but at a clean and radiant airport. For reasons I do not remember, it was just me and mom. But for the moment, the moment in which this memory was captured, I was alone.
She sat next to me, her curvy legs crossed for modesty. I stared up at her as she cleaned the corners of my mouth with a wet towelette from her purse, where, it seemed, all that made her so endearing came from. She didn't seem to notice. Her thick red lips mumbled things I couldn't make out and her eyebrows crunched together, as if it would help remove the crumbs from my lips. I stared like I was seeing her for the first time, like I was falling in love.
This woman whose ground I worshiped was still in her work uniform. She wore a body hugging sleeved shirt that complimented her large breasts, and a skirt that inched slightly above her knees. Her thick dark hair settled down on her shoulders, complementing all that made her so beautiful. The smell of her perfume and makeup created an aroma that intoxicated me.
"********, rester ici. Je serai de retour," my mother said softly just before crossing the shiny floor to the airport coffee shop. Her french dialect was perfect. Her pink blushed cheeps smiled down at me as she began to walk away. She had ordered me to remain seated as she crossed away from our bench. Her aroma caressed my face the way that her eyes did as she walked away. I never wanted to part from her. I know that my eyes never did. As her curvy bodacious figure walked away from me, her head turned only so often to make sure I remained on the cool silver bench.
My mom had beautiful legs. They were slim, but so curvy at once.When she walked, I couldn't help but just stare at her. Her form was as intimidating as Marilyn Monroe's, but I couldn't help but just stare at this woman with awe and unexplained infatuation. The sound of her black heels clucking against the shiny airport floor was music to my ears.
Strong coffee masked by Carnation Milk flirted with her moving scent, binding her wrapped up loveliness to our current setting. A giddiness overtook me as I drowned in happiness. I finally had this tall woman all to myself.
The airport's typical the white floors shined below me, like the flash of a camera capturing this endearing moment, so I can enjoy it in time.
It's July 23rd, 2014. It is my sophomore year in college and I find myself alone in the dorm. A feel a sense of freedom here as the woman I once adored has become a barrier I must overcome. Now I'm taller than her. When we go shopping, neither of us acknowledging one another's presence, she's not the one the men stare at: they stare at me. And there's a fire in me. A yearning to be desirable like she once was. To own my beauty as she had done so effortlessly. I'm 19 and eager. And she's 56 and has forgotten the importance of pampering and appreciating each and every aspect of the Human Machine.
On this day, I have regained my freedom. Yet this feeling of sadness has not yet escaped me.
She sat next to me, her curvy legs crossed for modesty. I stared up at her as she cleaned the corners of my mouth with a wet towelette from her purse, where, it seemed, all that made her so endearing came from. She didn't seem to notice. Her thick red lips mumbled things I couldn't make out and her eyebrows crunched together, as if it would help remove the crumbs from my lips. I stared like I was seeing her for the first time, like I was falling in love.
This woman whose ground I worshiped was still in her work uniform. She wore a body hugging sleeved shirt that complimented her large breasts, and a skirt that inched slightly above her knees. Her thick dark hair settled down on her shoulders, complementing all that made her so beautiful. The smell of her perfume and makeup created an aroma that intoxicated me.
"********, rester ici. Je serai de retour," my mother said softly just before crossing the shiny floor to the airport coffee shop. Her french dialect was perfect. Her pink blushed cheeps smiled down at me as she began to walk away. She had ordered me to remain seated as she crossed away from our bench. Her aroma caressed my face the way that her eyes did as she walked away. I never wanted to part from her. I know that my eyes never did. As her curvy bodacious figure walked away from me, her head turned only so often to make sure I remained on the cool silver bench.
My mom had beautiful legs. They were slim, but so curvy at once.When she walked, I couldn't help but just stare at her. Her form was as intimidating as Marilyn Monroe's, but I couldn't help but just stare at this woman with awe and unexplained infatuation. The sound of her black heels clucking against the shiny airport floor was music to my ears.
Strong coffee masked by Carnation Milk flirted with her moving scent, binding her wrapped up loveliness to our current setting. A giddiness overtook me as I drowned in happiness. I finally had this tall woman all to myself.
The airport's typical the white floors shined below me, like the flash of a camera capturing this endearing moment, so I can enjoy it in time.
It's July 23rd, 2014. It is my sophomore year in college and I find myself alone in the dorm. A feel a sense of freedom here as the woman I once adored has become a barrier I must overcome. Now I'm taller than her. When we go shopping, neither of us acknowledging one another's presence, she's not the one the men stare at: they stare at me. And there's a fire in me. A yearning to be desirable like she once was. To own my beauty as she had done so effortlessly. I'm 19 and eager. And she's 56 and has forgotten the importance of pampering and appreciating each and every aspect of the Human Machine.
On this day, I have regained my freedom. Yet this feeling of sadness has not yet escaped me.
26-30, M
