I watch as she runs, the air pushing her hair back, her long legs flying, more floating than running. Her smile is exultant and you can tell she feels free.

Her body’s tense, leaning forward, hands tight. She rakes her hair back and her jaw clenches. When she speaks, her voice is sharp and unforgiving. Her eyes flash, cold and hard, a steel mask of their usual softness. This anger is potently rare.

She leans up from the bed, her hair spilling off her shoulders. She smiles lazily and her eyelashes are still low. She stretched languidly, her shirt rising to expose the smooth skin beneath before she drops back and presses herself against me. Her morning beauty is my favorite.

She fidgets impatiently in her seat, always moving. Her foot taps, fingers drum, her eyes flash to the window and she leans back and returns. She sighs and chews on her lip. I watch her muscles tense and relax. Patience was never her gift.

She leans forward, absorbed by the pen in her hand. Her teeth unconsciously keep hold of her bottom lip. Her face is calm and her hand is steady as she forms her own world on paper.

She relaxes against the seat, body leaning gently against the window, hair whipped back by the wind. She shows a small smile and her laughter is free and often. Her arms wrap gently around her knees, feet resting on the dashboard, lips softly mouthing the words to a song playing in her head.

Her body winds and rolls, hair sailing, eyes laughing. Her feet are swift, her lips pursed. She’s enveloped in a wordless story of song. She makes me wish I could dance.

Her eyes flash to him, he’s unaware. He’s the only one who isn’t absorbed in her body. A sudden frown of impatience crosses her face and she’s suddenly straighter, stronger, sexier. She bites her lips, walks past, and catches his eye. He looks at her like he wants something and her eyes flash in a secret, sick triumph. It’s all she wanted.