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| Joined: | Saturday March 12th, 2005 |
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Posted: Monday September 12th, 2005 03:37 |
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Her
(An Expression of Love)
By
One Writer
Her large dark brown eyes sparkled, like the broken pieces of quartz that peppered the shallow shoreline of the lake. I thought it might have been freshly applied eye drops, or the sudden glare of the hot, Oakland, California, summer sun. An allergic reaction to the drifting pollen perhaps, I surmised. As she talks her voice is smooth and hypnotic, resembling the sultry moaning of a night club jazz singer, a velvet touch which massaged my ears. The words she spoke comforted me, and commanded my attention, and have me wanting more. I dismissed it as deceptive, perhaps cold lemonade, heavily spiced with honey and a dash of cloves, moments before we met, to conceal the real accent within.
While we walked I noticed her stride spoke of confidence. Every movement dictated purpose and announced her presence to those not shy enough to gaze. The steps she took were carefully spaced as if choreographed in synchronization with the movement of her arms, her hips, her auburn shoulder length cascading hair. I with my sharp sense of recognition knew it had to be a stride practiced for hours alone in an empty apartment, strolling from room to room, mirror to mirror, window reflection to window reflection. When she allowed me to touch her face; place my arms around her waist, kiss her soft lips, and ease my nervousness with her certain direction, I knew then, with no doubt, I’m in love.
Time melted through the day, and the succor of a star filled night blanketed the remainder of our stroll. A sudden breeze came and chilled her bare arms, and quickly disappeared, as if to deliberately force her into my reach while we sat on the bench overlooking the downtown skyline. My voice was all hers, and she listened while I babbled on, lost in my thoughts to impress. I chuckled to myself when I promised her the moon, knowing I couldn't give her the empty space of ground just inches in front of her feet. Am I being scrutinized? I wondered. Could she be as demanding in her judgment, as I had been in mine? Had she viewed the obvious, and pretentiously reasoned out every thing I spoke, my walk, my smile, my mannerisms? No, I convinced myself, no one this wonderful, this special, could possess a malice thought. This young vision, simply did what most people do, she took me for myself. In her graciousness, she is nothing like me, and of that, I am very glad.
When the East bound bus arrived, the driver paused, giving us a moment to share the brief goodnight kiss; the, I'll miss you goodnight glance, the goodnight tender caress of our hands, and a final embrace. I watched as a sentry standing post until the bus disappeared from my sight. Then I walked home, happy to finally be in love.
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