JAMBU

I love these moments. These little moments when I discover someone without them knowing it. I watch her loll under the budding tree and I know her. I can tell from the way her perfectly brunette hair out-lengths her black leather jacket that the cold doesn’t bother her at all. Her paleness is genetic more so than geographic, and it’s the perfect contrast to the fringe that frames her face. Her boots give her height and confidence, and the way she twists her foot in the dirt tells me she isn’t going anywhere; rather, she’s digging in. Her lips puff and pop a hazardous red, giving her an edge like a straight razor despite her wan, little smile. Her jeans grip her thighs like I imagine my hands would, and I know she likes to be touched all over. I know this girl under the tree in this moment. This moment is our first. And I hope for many more…