Standing among the shelves, spines all around. Titles like textures under my fingertips, sliding past my touch as I searched for something specific, something unique, something right. My mind full of tides, sands shifting underfoot. Lost in my task, seeking yet not finding, hoping for something more than just a gift to reveal itself.
When suddenly I looked up to find a pair of beautiful brown eyes looking back into mine, peeking out from behind thin-rimmed glasses and a wave of jet black hair. It lasted only a single moment, as almost by reflex they turned again to the shelves in front of them. The surprise of detection, that unexpeceted electricity that comes when someone catches you looking -- she turned away.
In a different life it would be all I could do to look upon her from behind a window, imagining conversations and possibilities before letting the notion fly away like some exotic bird on the wind, appreciated for it's freedom and beauty, but released almost as soon as it was discovered.
But here, alone amongst the thralls of bustling shoppers and stand up cardboard cut-outs of John Grisham and Narnian Lions, there was a different sense. A new thought, as uncomfortable as it was exciting, like a thick sweater that hadn't been washed yet, or a CD not wanting to let go of it's jewel case without a struggle.
When suddenly I looked up to find a pair of beautiful brown eyes looking back into mine, peeking out from behind thin-rimmed glasses and a wave of jet black hair. It lasted only a single moment, as almost by reflex they turned again to the shelves in front of them. The surprise of detection, that unexpeceted electricity that comes when someone catches you looking -- she turned away.
But I couldn't.In a word, she was stunning. Tall, with long legs wrapped tight in form-fitting jeans that disappeared underneath a sweater and a short denim jacket that served a sense of fashion more than any protection against the elements. The kind of woman who makes you notice things you wouldn't normally see, like the shade of her lips, or the curve of her calf. We caught glances now and again as we browsed, her Asian features becoming more and more hypnotizing to me as each moment passed.
In a different life it would be all I could do to look upon her from behind a window, imagining conversations and possibilities before letting the notion fly away like some exotic bird on the wind, appreciated for it's freedom and beauty, but released almost as soon as it was discovered.
But here, alone amongst the thralls of bustling shoppers and stand up cardboard cut-outs of John Grisham and Narnian Lions, there was a different sense. A new thought, as uncomfortable as it was exciting, like a thick sweater that hadn't been washed yet, or a CD not wanting to let go of it's jewel case without a struggle.
I could talk to her.But the words wouldn't form. The needle wouldn't thread, no matter how much I turned the thought over in my mind. Perhaps it was the weight that this particular winter has brought in it's wake. Or maybe it was the gift held in my hand and the emotions intertwined to the ribbons it had been wrapped inside. But most likely I think it was just me still being me -- regardless of the changes I've been through or any sense of boasting I might want to try and believe about myself.
I could say something.
I stayed behind my window
and I watched her fly away.
[Listening to: Ours, "Fallen Souls"]
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