Photo edited from Canva
Ever wonder what it's like to wake up to the sight of her back?
She wears your shirt, hair tied up in a messy bun. She hums a tune she heard from a commercial ad last night. Her hips move as she gently pours olive oil on the pan.
Your eyes are only half open. A smile escaped your lips. You yawn as you remove your crumpled blanket. Slowly, you walk to where she is and suddenly all you want is to hug her from behind.
She shrieks then she giggles while you rest your chin on her shoulder. You close your eyes and take a picture of that moment. No fancy balloons or expensive food. No extravagant dresses. No audience. Just you and her.
Ever imagine what it's like to hold her hands without minding the stares?
You gently fit every finger of yours with hers. She tells you how she loves to feel your rough palms against her skin. She tells you how small her hands compared to yours.
You draw circles at the back of her hand and you bring it to your lips and kiss it. She lovingly sighs. She whispers her feelings and both of you are in the verge of crying.
Ever dream of touching her face and tracing her jawline?
She closes her eyes and then the tears just fall. You ask what's wrong and she says not to worry. It's just that she can't contain her feelings. It's overflowing.
I wonder what it's like to just sit beside her and talk about everything. I imagine combing her hair and trying hard to braid it. I dream of having the right to hug her and make her feel all the good things.
I was a boy who liked a girl. A girl who turned out to be a beautiful lady. She's shy and reserved but when you know her well, she's bubbly and witty.
Now, I am a man who is in love with a woman.
She is my now and my future. She is inside all my daydreams and poems. She is my moon and my sun. She is all the fears and courage I keep. She is the storm and refuge. She is the spring, winter and summer. She is my fall.
I love every strand of her hair that falls on her face. I love her old sneakers. I love her strums. I love the way she laughs over a silly joke. I love her choice of music. I love every crease of her forehead and every bat of her eyes.
I love her.
But how can I tell her?
She always runs away. She refuses the attention I give her. She covers her face with her umbrella. She stays at the other side of the road.
Do you ever think of the idea that she feels the same way? That the meaning of her flushed face is because of you? Do you?
This is a piece of a 2-part mini story I wrote years ago. A piece with a guy's voice. It was my first and I guess, the last. Should I try again?