#couldyoudoit

THESE eyes  ( brown &. mixed in a swirl of honey )  have showered over hills the colour of cotton candy.  these heels   ( bruised, now, &. blistered )  have embedded into shores the feel of play-dough.   manhattan runs in a straight, solid line of normalcy, painting itself next to her other ventures in black &. white , akin to its recounts in history books. when it does, there’s still somewhere for that pink, tongue-bitten smile to rest--- a smile that always chimes to the song of travelling. (  across her face, &. in a cafe.  )  the doctor’d said somethin’, as he always seems to, &. it made her lips visage a bow. somethin’ about where us lots heads always were--- &. all she’d asked for was food!  so she’s filling that belly &. he’s off to--- well, wherever he is.  gets an idea in his head, that man, and swans off before rose can hold her chips &. find home again beside him!  a TARDIS in his own right; quick, impulsive, looking for trouble. maybe he’s tryin’ to take after that box; she’d seen the way he strokes at it. an unflattering snort slips past her nostrils. not incredibly appropriate for the younger side of the twentieth century, but it’s no skirt creeping above her knees either. certainly nothing to apologise over,  yet one decides to fall from her anyway.   ❛  ----oh sorry.  ❜  not for the noise itself, more where her eyes had laid on in it’s second of sound. the girl with the red hair---  ( blimey, that’s red ).  ❛  i wasn’t laughin’ at you; i was just thinkin'a somethin' else...  ❜