Tuesday, June 1, 2010


Women, my absolute favorite subject. I have exactly five women that are unnamed memories. Women who I saw exactly one time yet their beauty scarred me, left an indelible image in my mind. Each time I was permitted the scantest glance possible. And after I recover my breath (long after they are gone) I am left wondering how anyone is an atheist. How could anyone look at women and believe that the best artist of all time didn't sculpt their majestic form and breathe life into their rose red lips. I can fathom the antithesis of the atheist argument; perhaps women are gods. I know the five faces that haunt me would make a goddess turn green with envy. The point of this whole discussion? Well, I guess I just love to remember the girl Brandon and I stared at with mouths agape as our ice cream cones dripped on the hot July pavement. Even 10 year olds know a good thing when they see it. I prayed to be stronger, handsomer, taller, and older so I could look in those brown eyes flaked with gold and propose on the spot. Forget ice cream, Mr. Frosty is delicious and PB wouldn't be the same without it. But the real reason Mr. Frosty's has been my favorite ice cream place for the last 10 years isn't because they have the "Banana Boat sunday" or because it is a stone's throw from the beach, or that I conned my parents into getting me ice cream every time we went within a five mile radius of the establishment. The real reason is some anonymous girl who I saw once when I was 10 and have been unable to forget since that day.

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