Each time she passes, I fall in love.
Not with her, never with her.
She cannot be loved.
She is ugly and she is repulsive.
She reeks of herself, and not in the best of ways.
It is impossible to love her.
I am disgusted at the mere thought of loving her.
Her and all her luminescent flaws.
So obvious.
So incredibly real.
I fall in love.
Her lips twist into a crooked smile.
Not how a woman should smile.
Not the way a lady's lips slowly part to enchant you.
It twists, and creeps into your soul, her smile.
Makes you want to cringe.
I fall in love.
Her belly hangs, like that of an old hag.
Picture it, the allure of seeing a little skin on a woman's naval. Not with her.
It hung there above her trouser's waistband and just below her loose ragged shirt.
I fall in love.
Her hair stinks of cigarettes and sex.
Both, the kind you find in an alley, behind a dumpster somewhere.
Like she couldn't manage to rid herself of him and his stink. Like she never even tried.
I fall in love.