Damn Pretty

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'She's pretty...damnably pretty...', she thought silently, shaking her head imperceptibly. She willed herself to look away, but something drew her back. Something always drew her back. God bless... Why does she have to be so pretty? 

Was it imperfect perfection or perfect imperfection? Whatever, whichever. She had it. She was. Ideal. 'Trouble. Yes, trouble...'. she mused. 'The damn question and the answer...' 

'Effin women,' she continued. 'Why do they have to be so pretty? Why does she have to be so pretty? And so impossible, so remote? Yet so real.'

'You're getting nowhere fast', she scolded herself. 'Back to reality, Stacee.' 

'But... what if...?', she allowed. 'What if...?' 

'What if it's not a coincidence? Seriously?' She glanced back. 'I know. But damn... Why does she have to be so pretty?'

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