L is for the lighthouses she had seen in photographs, magazines, and books she often looked at in bookstores when she grew up. There had always been something haunting about them, something beautiful people often overlooked.
Mathilda recalled how the lighthouses could be built in the 1800s and still stand today just as strong as they had before. It didn't matter the weather, didn't matter what nature threw at it, and time meant nothing to the never aging stone. It was incredible, she never could understand how structures like a simple lighthouse could withstand time and nature when buildings down the street were being destroyed every day.
When she met Léon, he resembled a lighthouse to her the more she got to know him. His eyes were always far away, gazing upon some horizon that Mathilda wished she could see but knew she'd never be able to, like sleeping with one eye open, she supposed. It was always to stay focused, to get the job done. No questions, no thoughts, just work.
The sands of time could scratch at him, leave its mark, he could be splashed with the cold reality of life and chilled to the bone with the truth; yet nothing could make him bend or break. Nothing got in the way of his focus.
Mathilda often wondered if she was at the horizon at all, or if it was merely the men he killed or had to kill. His silhouette in the chair made her believe it was the latter, though her intuition told her otherwise.
As long as he stood the way he did, she would be by his side whether he liked it or not. She would never break his focus, or take his horizon away from him if it really is all he knew. Mathilda would be there to withstand time with him, live on with him, be there to protect his stone outside if it meant breathing the light of life back into him herself...and more importantly, help him see the rainbow and sunset after every storm that hit. Because she loved him.
