My mind was whirling with thoughts of her. Talking to her. Watching her lean over me. Feeling her hands on my chest. Having her in between my legs. She was like an intricate piece of Fine China hidden in a vintage shop made up of complex swirls and patterns that I couldn’t perfectly recreate in my mind. And every time I saw her, I was more enamored, finding more things to explore. From the way she tilted her head when my words were unexpected to the way she brushed hair from her face when she was impatient. I wasn’t one to study. But I knew the wave-like ups and downs of her voice as if I
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