The room is dark. Sophia sits at her lap top, a solitary illuminated cut out of pinks, yellows and reds amoungst a pallete of grays and blues. Jack lays next to her sound asleep, previously annoyed by her typing, now he is unaware. He moans, shifts a little, and rubs the soles of his feet against hers.
Sophia had tried to sleep, but her mind raced. She could not abandon her thoughts to dream. He was the object of her affection. She had spent a great deal of time watching him sleep, thinking back to the day and their time spent together. Daydreaming, she admired him hoping this would lull her to sleep. Jack’s hands. Jack’s disarming smile and perfect without being “too perfect” teeth. Jack’s smiling eyes. Eyes that she had decided must be the color of the water where the river and sea meet. Perfection.
Jack rendered Sophia utterly defenseless against his charm. He had her wanting to settle down and set up house. He had her fantasizing about pots and pans and master bedrooms. Jack was Sophia’s first love. Jack hung the moon.
