An old entry - Ivonne
In case I will lose it with my crappy computer, I decide to publish it here.
Long black hair flows down her shoulders, straight and shining. Shapely breasts under her low cut V collar, forming shadow between the undulations. Her waist is slender, and her bums firm. She’s one of those very hot Chinese girls that you can’t help to stop to observe her even when you are catching your bus that is about to go. I met her in a gay bar. She flew back from Paris that morning. Somehow I found her smile matching my stereotype of France, sweet but a little bit sorrow is looming somewhere.
She was surrounded by a group of cute gay guys. They were forming a group to protect her from the crowd, so that she could release the hottest dance in the dancing ground. When she danced, her smile was sweet; but when she stopped dancing, the smile dimmed down. Most of the time when she rested in the sofa, she rested in her gay friends’ arms, as if, they were her real boyfriends.
Although she knew that they could never be her real boyfriend.
Her boyfriend is French. Maybe we can call that her ex-boyfriend. I’m almost sure that he’s a very cute guy, though I’ve never seen him. She said he was bi-sexual. She fell in love with him at the first sight. But he could never be sure of his options. One week before she came back, he finally decided to try this relationship.
Three months are too long for a newly developed relation. It’s not half as sweet as the sorrow Shakespeare experienced. She got a little bit tipsy, and the alcohol made her despair. Delusions rushed to her head. Images of his sleeping in bed with some blurred faces screened in front of her eyes like black and white films. She wanted to get rid of these awkward pictures. So she drank more and more. Those never helped. When we made the next stop Karaok, she collapsed into tears with those awful love songs we sang. Pop music is designed to be the salt to the wounds. Strangely many people make it the first option to cure the pain from breaking-ups.
Perhaps it’s the French way of relationship that when two people are not in one place they break up. She was adapted to the French way. But when she came back and became a Chinese girl again, her Chinese heart made her cry. Many of the girls sitting there that day had similar experiences. When Ivonne cried, they all looked down.
Ivonne is the only name I know that sounds French, so let’s call her Ivonne.