The adventure of love

Happy belated Valentine's day everyone. In this short story there is an element that I have grown from. I used to be hung up on the idea of not only the perfect relationship, but the perfect moment of falling in love. Life has since taught me that love is messy, hard, very far from perfect and complicated. But it can also be beautiful when you find it with the right person. Even though I haven't reached that milestone in my journey yet, I'm okay with that because I know that when I do, I will fight to keep it.

In the spirit of Valentine's week I chose to share the story. Just a quick disclaimer that this is one of the few stories that is purely from my imagination. I usually include some experience or event in my stories, but this one was more like: what I wished would be an experience. Hope you love it.

Time to sail

Photo by Bobby Burch on Unsplash

Adventure

Crashing waves on the endless blue horizon, the skies from which rain pour after a long drought, this resembles his eyes that I involuntarily got lost in within the splitting of a single second. His demeanor was firm, yet his hands gentle – paging through his book. I had caught a glimpse of eternity before his eyes fell back onto the words in front of him.

My eyes scurried back to open pages in front of me, but the words swam around and drowned in the thought of the ocean I had just perceived. Peripheral vision has never been more advantageous. My eyes traveled from the top of his head to the very sole of his feet soaking up every detail.

Dark brown hair lain askew, parted by the path between a glimpse and a stare. Neatly shaven and well groomed. The creases on his forehead paved the road for the experiences that gave birth to both anger and concern, reminding me about the unlimited spectrum of human emotion. His brows, set firmly in a rested position, equipped to follow the emotion that demands its support. Avoiding drowning, my eyes dashed away from his and fell atop his nose, studying its curvature. Softly flaring it provided passageway for the sweet summer breeze to pass through, gently swaying back and forth identifying the distinct differences of smell that enter. Rosy cheeks pulled my eyes towards them and they upheld their respectable state in the white picket garden where they resided. A small curvature, just below the garden indicated the familiarity of a grin and the family bond of a well-worn smile. All protected by the dark brown shade of masculinity and highlighted by the definite angle of his jaw bone. Soaking in the fullness of his lips, as they lay softly amidst one another, I must have imagined the faint accumulation of smirk.

My eyes examined the curvature of his neck, still partially covered by his facial shade of protection. Its innocent demeanor; attractive. His shoulders set broad and firm, similar to a king on his throne, but also that of a father who could catch his children after being air born. His remaining upper body, hidden from perception by the faded collar shirt, unbuttoned atop for relief of constriction; neatly tucked in at the waist; folded up to the elbow. His forearm traced with trails of life, supplying each extremity with nutrients for survival. His hands; well supplied. My eyes stayed fixed on them, interrupting the pace at which they were moving. Sturdy set tools that tell the tales of battle and war, both physical and within, both lost and won. Gentle fingers holding the pages, ready to create their own story, instead of paging through another. Icy spaces between each, impaired from receiving heat from being laced with another’s. ‘Twas his hands that narrated loneliness and the thought of it drew closer attention to his eyes.

Involuntarily my eyes met his and I finally saw their ability to hide. Hide the drowning soul because it was anchored too firmly. Hide the lonesome heart that was cast over by the rain. My mind belatedly reacted to his eyes meeting mine and staying fixed. My eyes could not stray from the cry for release from solitude that his eyes bore into my soul.

Before I could pry my eyes from its destruction, I noticed that his eyes were closer than before and intensity increased. Only upon returning to full consciousness did I notice that the chair next to me was no longer unoccupied, but fully owned by the masquerade of his demeanor. My words seeped into the ocean sitting in front of me and my mouth failed to comply.

“Hi, my name is Chris” he bravely admitted. His voice tender and comforting, tugging at the strings of my soul; urging me to dust of my sail and set out on the adventure of the raging waters that rumble within him.

Don't be shy to share your thoughts in the comments below or on Facebook. I'd just love to hear some How we met stories from you. Let's get sentimental.