Most people shout, kick or scream when they're overjoyed; she stays silent. Sitting in a thin, white petticoat with a bow on the left, on crisp sheets that smell of jasmine; her knees pulled to her chest, her chin resting in them, she hums his favourite song. She's 18 and clueless, she's 18 and lost, she's 18 and madly in love.
Her skin in soft and her hair wet, oh, she's so plain she used to mind it, but not anymore. She waits for her heart to usher itself to a stop, it beats rapaciously. The thrill still lingers in the tips of her fingers, burns down the side of her neck.
She throws herself back and grins. She giggles like a child on a carousel, like a thief with his prize, like a girl with a dirty, filthy secret. Her eyes close and a reel of the night starts to play as the curtains of her memory draw apart. So vivid, so real, so passionate all of it is such a riveting novelty, it sends goose bumps down her bare legs.
She's 18 and flustered, she's 18 and insatiable. She