the beautiful one

The beautiful one is the young lady you have in your mind: she is poised for whatever dreams you may have, and she will sit right at your side in silence. You haven't bothered to find out much about her, because you think you already know all that you need to. Why? Because she smiled at you. She introduced herself before you even got the nerve to say "hello." She listens to you talk about whatever, and feels sorry for you when you whine. This actually means that she is polite, with good manners. You could take a few cues.
In your mind, she is beautiful in her cream-colored mohair sweater, an aura lit about her head. You find yourself saying words and issuing compliments you don't mean, just hoping she will stay there on the phone, sit on the bar stool, or pay attention to you for five more minutes. The truth is that you are bored with the truth: you already know that no woman is perfect. A compliment, afterall, is just a grouping of words you give meaning to, like the fortune in a fortune cookie. At least that's what you think you said. She tells you that you are interesting, which means she's just not interested. Enough with the words, the lip service.