She Was America's Kate Nash

Lying on the bed, with my chest on the fluffy pillow and my right eye strained to see. Reminiscing with a delightful and electrifying mind under intense darkness, nothing looked provocative and beauty saturated than the aesthetic physique of the white girl I encountered yesterday. She glittered like the golds from the California rush.Breathless under my nostril like am allergic to pollen air, I composed my restive personality, popped my collarbone but left my words behind my vocal organ. Virtually I had been muted by music and sonorously impaired to the wandering public, alienated to pubic noise and unless gossip. I managed to say, " Hi" to her while in a miasma of disillusionment. She spoke with softness, an innate voice as alto and more tenor , reminding me and the atmosphere of Vanessa Carlton on the song, "Dear Annie".We parted ways, at the opened elevator. A scene dissimilar from Flo rider's in that I didn't deem that moment fit to make sure a gangster decision. I pondered and bid her farewell while she made it for the confined box( Superman's changing room).I wonder if we would ever see, a sweet month of May. She will be gone till September, and will return in the mist of ten thousand individuals.How come? How was I blinded till the closing chapters of Spring semesterI never had the chance to maroon 5 the whole scenario but I most certainly hope I get to know her better maybe in the near future.Lost in a small hole is the boy with little but less pragmatic dreams.