For my best friend,
who thinks steak is one of the
most awesome things ever invented.
You have a key,
and it opens a door,
where it leads to though,
you have to find out yourself.
But know that,
I'll be there just beyond the door,
a mystery longing to be unveiled.
wonderland of wanderer
I.
He's nineteen when he meets her.
He's bright, smart, respected by his peers and feared by some, responsible and always concentrates on tasks at hand and never fails. He's never fallen in love—the word itself sounds preposterous and too ambiguous, too vague to define; something he won't be interested in spending his time on. He always prefers logic and facts, after all.
Not until he sees her anyway.
To say that he falls in love at first sight would be ludicrous, and he'll persist that it's anything but that—but he'll go as far as admitting that there's something in him, something so diminutive and easily diminished, that stirs at the sight of her. Normally, he would have laughed at the idea (it sounds like something Irvine would blather on and on over dinner, or something Selphie would swap out of her romance dictionary); and really, he wishes he could.
Only he can't.
Maybe it's the way she stands out, the way she moves swiftly among the crowds, evading every single person with almost ethereal nimbleness. Maybe it's the way her bare shoulders glow faint yellows, or how her cerise lips turn up, and how he notices the stars painted on her dark eyes gleam as she comes closer.
"Are you alone by yourself?"
The bracelet around her right hand clinks, almost mellifluously in his ears, and drowns out the rambunctious music and laughter of the party. And all he can see is her smile and eyes, and before long he finds himself in the dance floor, where the silvery moon hits them with light so white it almost turns this girl, this girl he doesn't even know, insubstantial and ghostly… as if she was never there, just dancing in and out of time and dimension.
But it doesn't really matter, he thinks as they waltz for the moon. Her touch may be a little cold, but that's enough proof to tell that she's still present, here in his arms.
The moon is cold and the dance floor is getting deserted when she mutters a thank you and swivels around to leave, and he asks for her name.
She smiles that illusive smile again, as if trying to divulge something, and when she opens her mouth and lets the words free in the chilly night air, he gets shivers.
The jet haired girl walks away from him and this life, away from the moon and its light, and embraces darkness and then is gone from his sight.
That name…
It sounds awfully familiar somehow. Something he's heard, maybe in a book he read during his childhood, or maybe a song he can't quite recall, or a faraway place…
Or did he dream it?