by air

She had a smile that could melt the cement. Sidewalk chalk running and mixing with the liquidity until it was a colorful swirl like a neapolitan smear. I wanted to steal her essence and mix it with a gin and tonic. Perhaps then things would be more ethereal, or at least more promising, more sensual, more brave, fearless, happy. Girls like her made it look effortless, being a woman, impenetrable, jolly, together, irresistible. They wore dresses so feminine, showing their bubble gum skin while the rest of us clunked in our corduroy man pants and oversized ribbed shirts. I loathed and admired them at the same time. Curious how they vied for the attention of men without a single slip up, without a hint of introspection, worldliness, or sincerity. Just smiles and laughs at the right time, just waxed and primped in all the right places, just dusted off with the finite precision of an off the cover persona. She appeared to never dip down like the rest of us, susceptible to the human condition. No, she was always a float, hovering a little above the ground constantly demonstrating how beauty could oppose all universal laws. I wanted her not to exist but I also wanted to exist as her. An impossibility for she knew no hypocrisy, no contradiction, no internal struggle, no dark days, no self-doubt. She could never be me and I could never be her. We would just have to run parallel then, me by foot and her by air.