Disheveled

She was sitting there serenely sipping from her 1 liter bottle of branded iced tea. It's weird she'd bring a liter to school, seeing as she's a petite little thing. Either she knows what she wants and she sticks to it, or she's rash and was gluttonous enough to buy a whole liter of a drink she was yearning for only in an intense moment. There's also the fact that by now, her drink was warm; incubated by the tropical sun. In any case, she seemed to enjoy her drink. The pursing of her lips to catch each poured drop of tea, and the slight smile after each swallow, its hard to say whether I'd rather keep her image immaculate as Chaucer's nun, or maybe in undress, pouring liquid on herself. No, definitely not in undress. She will be the mother of my children. She will be my broken Mary, and I will take her with all flaws attached. If only she knew. If only I was serious.