I was looking into a still lake on a grey winter’s morning. Thinking about the first letter he wrote me. Of his childlike writing and unmasked feelings. Those simple words in flowing cursive would someday move me to tears like no written word ever could. The fog seemed to clear and staring back at me from the depths I saw a smile upon my face. It was the day love found me.
The cup of hot chocolate felt warm in my hands as I looked across the street. It was a cafe tucked away in a busy street on a hilltop somewhere. A book nestled in my lap, the drolleries of Lear reminded me of him. There he was looking at me as his ridiculous puns and his innocent eyes pulled me into their depths. The mirror from across my table watched as I laughed by myself lost in a memory. It was the day I found love.
That night the piano man played me our song. Every note was a part of our tale that echoed through my heart. From that dusty attic where I hid him I watched him walk up to me and ask for a dance. My mind waltzed across the floor and my soul took flight. His eyes were like I last saw them, a moonlit night preserved in paintings. It was the day love found me.
My diary lay open and my pen traced words onto the empty pages. The ink in tune with my heart. “You write of everyone and yet you never write of me”, he would mock me. How could I tell him his story is mine and without it I will always be incomplete. How could I show him those tear stained pages where he lives. It was the day I found love.
I was as incomprehensible to him as he to me. But like an Eagle’s nest on that far off cliff he was home to me.