6th floor

I wish I could date you.

That dyed hair that you carefully tuck behind your delicate ears. Those eyelashes that sweetly kiss your eyelids every time you flash the most beautiful smile, every time you speak—

Ah, yes. Your voice—so remarkable, so exquisite.

Your lips. Sometimes I wonder if the tints you use leave taste on it—like candies. I often see you wearing pink and it reminds me of luscious strawberries. And sometimes red—for cherry. And sometimes orange—oh, the tang of citrus.

I wish I could date you so I could tuck your dyed hair behind your delicate ears when the wind decided to become playful with those soft strands.

I wish I could date you so I could stare at your eyes for as long as I could. Then you would talk about your dreams, your guilty pleasures. I would love to do that with you. I would love to listen to you because your voice is a music to my ears.

And after that date, I would drive you home and you would kiss me and I would kiss you back with our eyes close.

And with our eyes closed, you would ask me to guess the color of your lipstick through the taste of your lips.