He was thinking about her in the afternoon and couldn't remember what her face looked like. He'd think about a photograph he had of her but he could see her body, and her hair, and her smile and exactly where she was looking in the photograph. Although he could not pin point what her face looked like in motion on a regular day. It was as if her face was a scarce area of skin with no shape but an oval. He could reach his fingers into her eye sockets like play-doh and it would slowly return to it's former shape as he took his fingers out, but still no face. Instead of her face appearing another girls would appear instead. He did not know the name of this girl but he knew where this face had come from.
Except this story, it's about this guy and how he can't remember what this girl's face looks like. She wasn't beautiful, no. Although she was remarkable to him. She had that face that would undoubtably welcome wrinkles at an early age. That face that you don't tell your friends you think is sexy but you do think so inside. There are three reasons why you don't tell your friends: 1) You don't want them to have a chance with this girl. 2) You don't want them thinking this person isn't sexy 3) You don't want to ruin your idea of this girl with the judgements of others.
One thing he could remember about her face though, was her bags. The almost purple colour of blood underneath her soft skin.
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