memento vivere

three // ❝ camila was just that beautiful ❞

camila's hair was brushed perfectly. her curves were all on the right places of her body. her eyes captivated my own and i loved staring into them as she blabbered about the things she was dearly passionate about. her tanned skin was so smooth that i ended up wanting more of it. her hands were so delicate, i wanted to hold them more than i should have. her smile, oh, god, her fucking smile. it made her extra beautiful. her shoulders weren't that wide but every inch of her outline was fucking dazzling. i wanted more of her.

anyway. she loved art. she said she couldn't do much of art, but art was what got her attention ever since she was younger. she loved art museums, she ventured into two art museums in her younger teen years with her father. the way she talked about art was beautiful. she talked about art the same way a lover would describe his loved one. she talked about art the same way you would describe your soulmate. she talked about art the same way a girl would talk about a boy she's hopelessly in love with.

at that moment, i figured that that was what made her perfect; the way she talked about the things she loved. she talked about it as if she never wanted to lose a grip of it.

i thought beautiful was about the eyes you stare right into when you're in bed, fucking someone. i thought beautiful was the sway words of a girl when she flirts right back at you. i thought beautiful was when a girl would whisper sweet nothings in your ear when the night was wild. i thought beautiful was all about sex. i was always thinking about that. and it consumed me so much that i thought it was the only beautiful thing in this world.

but beautiful was not sex. beautiful was not the women you'd fuck. beautiful was not sex. it never was.

beautiful was camila.