They say the things we take notice of are the traits we crave the most.
Infatuation is a blind whale; crying out, searching in the darkness for a mate. She knows this all too well. Her mother warned her often, and shattered her confidence with every word, slicing through her conscience. The words still echo, as if they were in a long, never ending tunnel.
She does her best to tune things out.
The mind forgets what it knows when it's thrown for a loop. With strides as wide as his cheeky grin, a boy no older than she marches into view. A single word was thrown in her direction and in that moment, she realized he was everything she was not.
It was a disaster from the get go, but tagging along, absorbing his infectious aura in hopes that anything would make a lasting impression on her, made it all worth it. Never mind the danger, the scratches on her knees, and the terror in her heart — hope grasped at the calves of her legs and chained her soul to him for as long as he kept his heroic front.
Her late mother's long forgotten words come to her again. The stone cold hands clasped firmly across her back do nothing to reassure her that the loving memory of her mother was wrong all along. She's too far deep to pull back now — too far gone. The stony prison she's trapped in is proof of that.
The only thing more blind than hope is a hopeful fool.