Member-only story
Longing
By summer, I held your hand in mine.
I once thought you were heaven-sent, like something out of a legend — anything that might shake the grounds of the reality I had known for so many years. You were an angel with wings ablaze, all the more ready to change the foundation and steadiness that had allowed me to coast through life until that moment.
Your smile was shy, but those eyes of yours told a different story. Sometimes their blue-gray was a stormy sea; other times, the color of a winter sky — calmness like a frozen lake — greeted me by morn. But while your gaze led me on excursions, your words rarely left me stranded. Your affected boredom could fool a man for only so long.
By summer, I held your hand in mine for the first time, and you didn’t pull away. Your grasp tightened, far more welcoming than firing the sting of rejection. I could have led you astray, perhaps, but I found myself more concerned about where to take you — and what might keep you interested in someone who had barely made you laugh amongst your friends.
Flirtation was never my strong point, though I did try with you more than all others past. It felt like a challenge of sorts — anything that might make your mouth twitch even for a moment’s passing glance. I found myself focusing on you and your motley crew in the coffee shop. I remember seeing you throw your head back, coffee-colored hair fanning out behind you, just for a simple joke. Ah, how simple my life might have been if I could have gotten one reaction like that just months ago.
But life is no fairy tale. We move in inches rather than leaps and bounds. And love — well, no mold fits the same for everyone.
