A/N: I wasn't sure what category to put this on, but this is historical fanfiction. While I am a history enthusiast, this may not follow history exactly as it happened, so don't hate me if it's not perfect! If there is something that's historically inaccurate, let me know so that I can change it/learn something new. Thanks!
His long beard and scruffy hair were being particularly unhelpful that day, as Walt tried to tame his feature with a comb. His chest was tight, and he thought perhaps he could calm his nerves by grooming himself. He had been waiting for what felt like his entire life to get to this point, this day. Today was the day he was going to meet the great Abraham Lincoln.
There were no words to describe our great president in Walt Whitman's eyes other than spectacular. The was his tallest hats stood upon his head, his soft eyes always watching and understanding. There was nothing Mr. Lincoln couldn't do, whether it be freeing slaves in one wondrous speech and nearing the end of a war, or the ability to piece a once crumbling country back together. Mr. Lincoln was the one and only greatest president to have ever been honored the title. And Walt was granted the opportunity to meet him that day.
He made sure to wear his best, although he was aware that the President may only have a limited time slot allowed for him. It was a miracle they would be able to meet at all; Whitman was only a lowly poet and war veteran, a nobody in the wise eyes of Abraham Lincoln.
Walt looked at himself in the mirror another time, making sure he looked nice enough to grace the presence of the White House. His shirt was dark and brown, his Sunday best, and surely Lincoln's worst. His hair and beard were much like his suit pants. Passable, and there was nothing left to help his cause.
His horse, who he named Abraham after the President himself, seemed to sense Walt's anticipation and excitement for that day. He let Walt mount easily, although even if he didn't Walt wouldn't have noticed, he was too busy thinking about his coming encounter. He, Walt Whitman, was going to be able to meet the greatest, most beautiful man in history.
Abe placed his hat carefully on his head, making sure to cover his wispy strands of brown hair. He had to look his best that day, and a head full of graying, unruly hair was not the impression he wanted to make on his favorite poet.
"Abe? What are you doing?"
Abraham Lincoln's heart sank. Mary was always coming in and criticizing him. He hated her, but no respectable president was unmarried. It was simply unheard of. So Abe married this woman, and loved her as much as he could. But today he could think of nothing other than Mr. Whitman, acclaimed poet.
Abraham turned to his wife. "Oh, I'm just preparing for my meetings today. Nothing important, really." He lied, knowing his wife would be confused about him 'wasting his time' meeting with a poet while there was a country to run. But certain things were more important.
Mary nodded, sure in her husband's capabilities as a president (although his fashion sense was questionable), she loved everything about him. His tall, almost regal stature as he sat in his desk chair, contemplating whatever new problem the country seemed to have taken up. Thankfully they were almost done with this damn civil war. Perhaps when it ended Abe would be able to love her again, this time fully.
Abe cleared his throat. "Mary, I have to-"
"Right, sorry," She stepped out of the room quietly, wondering when he would ever look at her the way she needed him to.