He thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world. He knew objectivly that there were more beautiful women, even ignoring famous beauties from the screen and from music. Statisticly there was a certain number of desirable features that he found attractive and there had to be more perfect combinations of them but for the moment he couldn't fathom it. Those women were far away from him, most he'd never meet those he would he would most likely think them the most beautiful women in the world. For now though, in her private moment of dance that he was seruptitiously observing, she was perfect. She was wafishly thin, fragile almost, pale white skin that wouldn't take a tan even if it saw the sun which was unlikely in a country that saw winter eight months of the year. She had massive green eyes that looked at there best playfully mischevious and there second best heartbroken. These same eyes were currently squinted in concentration. She knew were every object was in the dance studio, she knew how long and how wide it was, she had trapsed it many times. So while she danced her eyes were pushed shut, it helped her drown out the world and see the next step. Her pink movement shirt and brown yoga pants clung to her body with a visciously erotic qualilty exaserbated by the sweat pouring off her body. Her dull, mousy brown her was pull up into a ponytail in order to keep it out of her face. Some how this made her even more beaiutiful. It was her innoceance. She loved life, not in the way he loved life by grabbing life's hand and letting it pull him through the mud of outdoor concerts and the humidity of car backseats. She loved life as a beautiful, unspoiled painting. One of such purity and simplicity it would make Sunday in the Park seem like a drunk bro-fest out at the lake. She loved Jesus Christ and lived to honour him. He couldn't tell if this foolishness made him hate her or made him want to corrupt her ever the more. Everything she did was innocent and pure, there was no dark underbelly, every scene she had to do where she'd play a prostitute or a drug addict or even someone as banal and predestrain as a bad mother she had to do extensive research. It's like she understood suffering having experianced it at the hands of others but didn't understand how to hurt others, or how to hurt herself, or why someone would want to hurt themelves.
She finished the last beat of the song and he thought it was the best time to break his silence.
"It looked wonderful." He said