(I have listed some very good ideas to write on over the last two days. Yet, I feel like rejecting even the very best and writing about love. It’s just a strong gut feeling. And only yesterday someone said I must be in love when I was caught thinking about rainy days. Anyways, here’s to the tickle of love.)
What is it about eyes? Brown eyes… warm, to melt into… Green…That make your heart freeze every time they turn to you… Blue… Soft, ever so soft… Grey… grey… like his.
What is it about voices? Sharp… that keeps you hooked, hanging on every word, as it comes as a sword through ice. Wispy… that mesmerizes you… Low… ever so low… that makes you believe the world is a sweet mystery. Joyous… that bounces off everything it hits… like his.
Why do people believe in love at first sight? Can they really see into a person so deeply and find something so comfortable that they are willing to commit their hearts? I hear they can. But what do they see? When I saw him for the first time, a dozen rows across me in that filled Hall, I only saw what God must have intended summer morning to be. Bright and glowing. Like a sunflower amidst wild lemongrass. But was that enough? Was that love? Is love like that? Like sunshine?
I didn’t know. So I tried to think through it. But for once my heart and brain didn’t seem to settle on anything. Is that how chaotic it is? Love? But isn’t love supposed to be beautiful?
I bowed my head for prayer. But my eyes strained under a sharp glimmer. It broke through the gaps in the rows between us. He got brighter and shinier with every second I stared. It was too painfully lit up to close my eyes. I was blinded. A visage through a flood of yellow and silver, dancing light. A dream…
But now I was getting scared. And when I’m scared or anxious, the whole world seems a shrewd conspiracy. A bad lie. Very very bad.
So much light… it’s wrong. It’s nor true. It’s a trap. It’s not true…
He isn’t real. THIS isn’t real. It’s too good to be happening. Too much light. Too much fantasy. People don’t light up like elves in real life. Glowing skin only belongs to Fantasy Novels and Alluring Ads.
Something’s wrong. I don’t feel so good. What’s going on! If glowing isn’t real, what’s wrong with him?! What’s wrong with me? Am I hallucinating?!! Am I ill! Why is everything spinning?
Oh-kay… why is the ground revolving so hard? How does everyone else have a perfect hold? Why is no one listening! HELP me! He’s still there… across these rows… he’s beautiful… he is…
Darkness. No people. No confusion. No radiant skin. No him. Just serene darkness. Perfect darkness.
Noise. A whimper at first. A cry. A low cry… Some light… some more… the hard cold feel of solid concrete crushing my arm.. and pain.
More light. He’s here. So is everyone else. I am on the ground. And my arm is aching.
What is it about fairy tales? Why do we read them as children, never to make much sense? Why do we grow up to live by them? Why do we expect every new admission in school to be our prince come to get us? Why do we believe every single time- this is it?
Why do we HOPE, that when we fall and hurt our arm and can barely even open our eyes, a prince will ride by and scoop us up? Why will we never believe any of these things, will see none, have no reason to expect anything like it… but yet, HOPE, that something as ridiculous as being picked up by a glowing-skin beautiful boy when the assemby hall is next to the medical wing?
We get not much.
But we see the radiant shimmer in the grey eyes stunned into shock, in the joyous voice that gasps and the beautiful boy that stands alarmed, as we are lifted up and rushed off to the hospital… as blood drips behind us in a trail.
A trail he suddenly wants to follow. Follow to the girl that lit up like the moon, and was swept away like the sun cutting cruelly through the calm night.