Impulses and Written Thoughts.

... and began to analyze him. Now that I had a better, more upfront, view, I saw that he was unbelievably gorgeous. Those mysterious eyes of his were almost blue-almost green, almond shaped as well. He had a sharp face, with high cheekbones and a square nose. His skin, much like his fingetips, were pale and cold-looking to the point where he appeared- if not for his tattered and worn clothes- like an ice statue.
Against all this, though, there was something soft or delicate about him. I was suddenly struck with the most absurd impulse to reach out and touch him; to stroke the length of his cheek, or twirl a peice of that long dirty hair spilling out from underneath his wool hat. My eyes widenned as he abruptly turned dramatically so we were eye to eye. In his solid expression, he seemed to be challenging me. Daring me to do something… His eyes smoldered again, catching me off gaurd yet again. So when he reached up and trailed the back of his pen along the side of my face, I knew that he knew my impulse.

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