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Certain smells...like a particularly attractive aftershave mixed with a little sweat...sometimes I'll be walking down the street and catch it...I like that.
Certain looks...when your guy looks at you like he could ravage you in an instant.
A good conversation with suggestive hints.
A hand brushing against me very lightly, from that particular guy.
Without external stimuli...a new haircut or hair colour. New, form fitting clothes. A top that shows off my cleavage a bit more than usual. Skirts. High-heels. Feeling confident makes me feel sexier. Being a bitch too.
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Whether we write or speak or do but look
We are ever unapparent. What we are
Cannot be transfused into word or book.
Our soul from us is infinitely far.
However much we give our thoughts the will
To be our soul and gesture it abroad,
Our hearts are incommunicable still.
In what we show ourselves we are ignored.
The abyss from soul to soul cannot be bridged
By any skill of thought or trick of seeming.
Unto our very selves we are abridged
When we would utter to our thought our being.
We are our dreams of ourselves, souls by gleams,
And each to each other dreams of others' dreams.
Fernando Pessoa, 1918
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