your eyes they shine so

you remember bemoaning the whole interaction with tara over the phone, thinking it to be quite a shame that nearly every handsome man you met always ended up being an asshole in some way or another. her laughter echoed in your ears as you pictured the way the setting sunray enhanced the purple tinge of his hair, the way his eyes sparkled, the pink and dark blue hues enticing you and causing your heart to race, the curve of his mouth. you were not an artist by any means, but the way the sun outlined the frame of his body, alighting the tips of his hair with its orange flames, softening his face, and leaving you breathless—he looked like he belonged in a framed picture, or a monet paintingstrangely, (though you kept this to yourself, not wanting to encourage tara’s teasing over your easy, fickle heart) you felt as though you knew him from somewhere, like some sort of deja-vu, or a half-forgotten dream.