Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin. ;-)

Miracle

If you could only see

The way she loves me

Maybe you would understand

Why I feel this way about our love

And what I must do

If you could only see

How blue her eyes can be when she says,

When she says she loves me…

I had never experienced a truly exceptional winter's day and I was always mystified at the idea of a 'Miracle'. People told me it was rare, special and occurred when you least expected it, whether it was a day, a moment or a person. As an extremely ordinary individual, with an extremely ordinary life, I wasn't expecting much. Rarely had I been inspired or motivated, until the day I met her.

The day was itself was distinctly unlike a normal winter day; there was no wind and for the first time in 34 years it snowed. Never assume that it was an absolute snow storm, rather a sprinkling like a dusting of icing on a cake. They descended from above and I could feel the tiny dots kiss my face in reverence, their icy points burning my skin. As I walked through the vacant lots of reserve at the back of my house the sky was startlingly white and it was impossible to look directly up into its vacant brilliance. From the weather alone one could say that perhaps on that day I might have experienced the beginning of a small miracle.

The trail itself was enclosed and opened into a large area resembling a crater only it was full of large rocks. I loved walking through here because it felt like a different world altogether. The ring of tall forestry surrounding the open area enclosed the rocks in a circle and I considered it to be my personal place away from the condition of the real world. I don't know what it was, but each time I returned, there was never anyone around and my expectations remained the same. It was only a moment. I saw her sitting there at the very peak of the largest rock in the middle of the crater. I walked in a circle behind the trees so I could gain a better view of the impostor who had invaded my place, usurped my position. There she sat, her head tilted back, catching each little crystal ice on her tongue. Her inky black her spilled out of her hooded jumper and splayed wildly in the wind. That was the fatal moment I met her. Suddenly as the silence ceased, the breeze carried beautiful sounds to my ear. Apparently the charlatan woman was singing.

"Come and rescue me

In the water deep

Careful now don't lose your way

The road ahead is here again

And I haven't found it yet

You drift away so slow

Of all the hidden pleasures you find

What you're looking for

I hope that you remember that pride

Comes before a fall

I can barely see

Up and down and back again

Despite what you believe

I keep away from trouble

And who I am today

A sign of where I'm going

I'm ready to embrace

"I know you're there," she called out in a sing song tone. Her voice was sweet and sheer like a soft clear blue sea. How was I supposed to respond?

"You're in my spot." I responded flatly. I didn't know who she was and she was acting as though we had known each other for 10 years. Turning her head slightly she eyed me through her riotous silky tresses with apparent mischief.

"I don't see your name on it,' she sang back, unperturbed by my defensive behaviour.

"No one ever comes here," I replied.

"So what you're saying is that I shouldn't be here either?" she responded, closing her eyes. Abruptly she climbed off the rock and stared unerringly at me, her head cocked to the side.

"You should go home - it's going to rain tonight."

"How do you know?"

"They told me this afternoon," she stated serenely.

"Who did?"

"The moon and the ants…"

Her strange nature unhinged me from the beginning, yet after our initial encounter I could not let her go. In that instant I knew I had experienced a miracle in a moment.

To say that she was physically unique would be a lie. Her long back hair was quite normal, her blue eyes were bright but nothing distinctly different and her skin was pale and average at best. It was not in her eye's, her hair or her skin that I saw her beauty, but in her simple musings. Innocuous as they first seemed her comments veiled a deeper meaning which I only ever realised after continued deconstruction of my conversations with her.

Isn't that what most people do when they like someone? After spending time with said person they will recount their time together incessantly in order to gain insight or evaluate themselves. I realised that over the course of our relationship I would do this many times over. That fateful day saw me drawn to her aura in an unspeakable manner. I longed for a glimpse of her obsidian locks concealed under a childlike woollen Eskimo beanie, and slightly chapped lips pursed in thought.

"Sometimes I like being by myself," she had said to me.

"Everybody does…at some point or another," I placated.

"Do you ever wonder why the Mona Lisa smiles the way she does?"

"I'm sure everyone has."

"But what do you think?"

"She smiles as if she holds a great secret and no other person knows about it."

"Really?" she had paused before continuing, "I thought that she reflected upon her lover while she was being painted…what else would make a woman smile that way?"

I told her that I was sure that any woman deeply imbued in the elevated state of love would certainly smile the way the Mona Lisa does. In all honesty, the most beautiful woman, is one in love.

"I wouldn't want the Venus De Milo to ever have arms."

"Why not? It would at least complete her image," I had grumbled back.

"But that is her beauty isn't it? That no one knows how her arms would be…that is her greatest intrigue."

There we were constantly meeting and talking.

I found out that she liked caramel flavoured ice cream…in fact she liked caramel flavoured anything. Her little pink tongue whipped up the creamy coldness with deft precision. Our coastal town faced the open beaches which lashed the sandy shores with ferocity during heavy storms. We sat high upon the cliff tops facing the brazen ocean on a clear sunny afternoon. The salty air left my skin feeling clammy and smelling like saline. There was no breeze in the air and the sun beat down on our heads with heat unexpected in spring. The sun was slowly dipping into the horizon its vibrant oiled turmeric hues blanketing the shore.

I had watched in fascination as she closed her eyes and immersed herself in its rays, her lips curved at the edge.

"I'm dying."

She had sighed the statement, as if it was more of an irritation then a terminal obstacle. Turning to me she smiled and asked, "What would be the last thing you do before you die?"

I had told her that I would have to think about it. What was a reasonable person meant to say when faced with such a question? For weeks I would not think of an answer. Ironically I did not think of it, until the day she died.

I will think about her, not once, not twice, and not when I see something which she had given me or I her. She will be in my thoughts forever. She truly was a miracle. I would not write her a story, there is always an ending. I would not write her a song with words, poetry is too restricting. Even if I were to use these letters, to form prose I would not be able to describe her beauty. Instead, I would write her a symphony with music which flowed freely. There are no limitations to a sound. They are immortal. Anyone who listened would interpret her magnificence in their own way. This would be my gift to her. Each one would see her exquisiteness differently. How could I limit her with words? I could not.

If you wish to review, tell me what you think and how I might be able to improve the story ;-)

cheers,

Iuvenalis