Elle – We Talk About Flowers

Elle lives in Shanghai. I met her when I was having a conference there. You will love Elle the first time you see her. Her skin is a little bit darker than common Chinese girls but it gives her a healthy look. She’s lean and lanky and has the flattest abs. But it’s her eyes. She has a pair of big almond shaped eyes. Eyes that millions of girls will willingly spend much and suffer a lot in a plastic surgery table to get. She will lower her head a bit and look up at you shyly, ah she’s irresistible when she does that. She graduates from a fashion school, justifies her good taste in clothes. I love how her pants or miniskirt hanging on her hips, and how she walks featherweightly. She’s treating me well. She brings me to her house, she introduces me to her friends and sister, she takes me to parties, we have good food, we go places, she gives me the best five nights of a dull Shanghai conference could turn out to be. But then this is something she says that get all my senses: we’re in bed, just recovering from an intimate moment when she rolls over and look me at the eyes.
“Flowers,” she says.
“Flowers?” I say.
“Yes, flowers,” she says. “Flowers are pretty, I think just a little things on earth are more beautiful than flowers,” she says. “But they died so soon, they bloom beautifully today and the next day they’re dying, and the next day they are gone,” she says quietly. Then she closes her eyes and snuggles on me. A big bell suddenly clangs in my head.
“What are you talking about, Elle,” I ask. “Are you saying we are doing this in the ‘flowers’ way?” I ask. Though not wanting to know the answer. Elle snuggles on me, holding me tight.
“I’m yours,” Elle says.
“Yes you are,” I say to myself. For tonight.

Elle is a very nice girl that you will love to be your girlfriend. But we live in totally different world. And we don’t do long distance. After I’m back home we have tried but it doesn’t work. But I keep her in my heart.