There’s a girl in one of my classes that I like observing. Although, first I must explain that one of my obsessions are women. Women are interesting, delicate, surprising, delicious and captivating creatures. This girl in my class is one of them.
As I sit behind this girl whose name I’ve never gotten; her body language begins to give me a picture of who she is. She is, as Jose Garcia Villa would say, “as slender as a bell.” The clothes she wears masks her physique but is obvious when she sits down. Her polo embraces her hour-glass waist, showing the smooth magnetic slope that falls to her hips.
The manner of how she sits is most curious. She crosses her legs like man, for reasons I do not know. Probably because she continuously strokes her inner thighs. It is for pleasure? I do not know, but the room is quite cold, so that might be the reason. How I wish I could probe into that mind of hers. Everyone else in the room consumes this freeze by chattering, laughing and shifting uncomfortably in these old wooden seats.
The girl in front of me has her music on, and I do assume that she’s enjoying it. Her foot taps rapidly on the red tile floor along with the rhythm, sending vibrations through her figure. Her legs shake. Her hips shake. The clothes on her back shake. The long hair on her head shake. Every now and then, she crosses her legs like a typical girl.
Her fingers dance on her old iPhone; her long legs are constantly moving; though, her head has remained still. The head is drooped and slightly to left. If memory serves me right, she is using her left side of the brain. Which would mean that she might be doing something tied to logic on her iPhone, probably texting.
Her outfit seems to be almost the same each time I see her: boots, jeans, blouse/shirt. She seems most comfortable, barely moving from her place.
She is sitting on the left edge of her chair, however. This might be because she is annoyed with the guy sleeping next to her. This guy sleeps away as his underwear peeks at me, whilst showing a crevice of which I never asked for.
The girl in front of me is impatient. She glances at her watch frequently, then she taps to the music. Repeat process.
Her fine fingers run through her hair so often that it’s complete torture to see. I’ve always had a thing with hair on beautiful women, and this was one of those cases.
The crossed leg has been put down, and now I see her boyish aspect. For a moment, she sits like a boy–a very attractive one at that. She presses her thighs together with her hands clasped between them. It is at this point that I figure out that she is feeling cold.
It’s almost free-cut and some people have all ready left. She stands up, takes her things and struts away. Now I’m left here, left legged crossed and bored–since my subject left.
For someone who is so quiet, she gave me lots of things to think about through how her body moved.
This was taken from my journal entry made for poetry class. It has been greatly improved and edited.