Euphoria rushes through my entire being when I see her. Standing in a busy mall, I resist the urge to leap in joy or shout in celebration, and instead marvel in a wonderstruck state at the otherworldly sight that is ahead of me.

She appears to be either in her final years of high school or someone who has yet to experience more than two years of college life, and is completely oblivious of my presence and the awe and admiration that her sight has instilled in me. She is wearing a black-and-white striped tee shirt and a pleated red miniskirt, while her feet are covered in sneakers. On her left shoulder is a small sling bag that falls by her waist and by her right are two boys who are likely of a similar age as hers.

She should be an ordinary sight, but to my eyes she is something extraordinary. It is not just her slender build, long light brown-dyed hair, or fairly tall height that is the reason for this. She also exudes an invisible but powerful aura of youthful energy tinged with innocent sensuality that is both heightened and complemented by her outfit, particularly her miniskirt. But the shirt too deserves credit.

The girl looks amazing regardless of whether she is standing or walking, but it is in motion that she looks truly marvelous and I find myself gasping for air. It is mainly her lower half that creates such a reaction in me. Every slow step she takes causes her miniskirt to sway slightly in beautiful motion with incredibly tender grace, inviting the gaze of perverts and miniskirt aficionados – I fall into the latter camp – but never once betraying the innocence of its master and wearer. I am not disappointed by this in the slightest, but am instead glad. To be able to see what lies behind the miniskirt would shatter the appeal that only a miniskirt can provide. To be slightly but constantly teased by the swaying of the miniskirt, knowing full well that it will never under ordinary circumstances reveal what it hides, is an incredibly exhilarating experience that only oddities such as myself can appreciate.

With numerous girls who wear miniskirts I should be treated to such a sight frequently. But that is not true. This is my first time having this heavenly experience, because this is the first time I have seen such a girl. This is a girl who looks impossibly perfect in a miniskirt. This is a girl who looks as if she was born to wear miniskirts, and as if miniskirts were invented and perfected over the decades in preparation and anticipation for her coming.

But for all its beauty, the situation is not perfect. The puzzle is on the verge of completion, but a piece is lacking. Curiosity starts to tear at me. I have to see her face. I have to see her face, regardless of whether it completes or breaks this fantasy. I have to!

I force myself to tear my gaze from her back, her gently swaying miniskirt, her smooth slender legs, and quicken my steps. The wide corridor we are on will split into two soon, with the space in the middle offering a view of the floor below this one. As she and her companions begin to veer to the left, I move to the right with hurried and frantic steps, my heart pounding furiously and filled with a determination and resolve I have never felt before. I can feel a few drops of cold sweat on my back as I weave my way through the crowd, casting desperate glances in her direction. During one of my glances I notice that there is a pair escalators beside the path she has taken. My heart skips a beat as the possibility of her riding one of them emerges. I try to take another look but I am in the middle of a sea of people and relentless and unending waves of them prevent me from seeing what I want to see.

My mind cries out in frustration and as a tear forms in my eye I make my way out of the crowd with a run and dash towards the corridor she was walking on. Grasping a hand rail, I scan this new crowd but can not see her or the two boys. Curling my left hand into a fist I run towards the escalators. The escalator on the left leads upwards to the second floor and I take it. There are few people on it so I find myself panting slightly on the next floor in no time. I look at my immediate surroundings but she is not there. I hurry to the corridor but can see no sight of her. I look and look, wishing with all of my might that I can find her, but the wish is not granted. I try to guess where she could have gone but as I think the distance between us continues to grow and it is simply impossible for me to ascertain her location or her destination. Still I wander the mall in futility and with the naive optimism I scorn.

An hour passes and still there is no sight of her. Hope and my initial euphoria start to fade. With a sigh I collapse onto a bench, heart still pounding wildly. It’s over. I’ve lost her. I would return to this place as often as I could in the hopes of miraculously stumbling upon her again, but my circumstances will prevent that from happening any time soon. With another sigh I close my eyes and try to relive my experience from less than two hours before. From the recent archives of my mind I retrieve the impossibly perfect image of the girl and her miniskirt and am consumed by emotions I never thought could be evoked in me.

 

Link to original image: http://nononjakuzare.tumblr.com/post/145830678160/borealisowl-schoolgirl-hana-song-anana