There was a smile to himself, and a breathless moment in which he would turn to glance at her. The wind would tussle her hair, and he would allow himself one, self-indulgent glance to admire how beautiful she looked. Before then she would turn to him, eyes alighted with a new emotion he couldn't recognize, and grin broadly at him, and his heart would melt once more.
How odd, is the lack of willpower one could call the infatuation of love. He had heard the stories of those in love; how every moment had the length of a passing hour, how one's heart would flutter as if it didn't have the space to soar. It was addicting, and now, he feared, he was addicted, and no amount of withdrawal would ever wean him off of the feeling.
He smiled a bit back at her, stomach lurching into his throat as she walked towards him, an eyebrow cocked and eyes so focused they seemed to stare right into him. He wondered if he should feel guilty, when such emotions immersed him whenever he glimpsed her. Or that he clung to them, as if they were his anchor when he might as well float away.
She would nod to him and situate herself down on the hard ground without caring of the bark that surely dug into her back, or the twigs that littered the group. He, himself, was perched on a log.
"Hello," she would say, or some variation of the standard greeting.
He would try to hide how his breath lost a beat. "Hey."
"How are you?" The formalities she never could forget, but he was the slightest bit touched that she cared enough.
And then he would answer, and repeat the question to her, wishing he had the courage to tell her how he felt. But the chance of losing that spark in her gaze whenever she would notice her, or the care that underlined each supposedly emotionless word. Oh, now he wished he had her eyes that could stare into souls, for then he could know not to make a fool of himself tripping over all the feelings dangling down like threads.
Her eyes embraced by long eyelashes; wide irises that captured the soul of color; a gaze that could enrapture the most war-hardened criminals. Dirt from the hard endeavors past tainted her scarred skin, but in his all-too-adoring eyes, she was flawless.
The man would drag himself out of his thoughts as their conversation would wrap up and she would leave, the sensible corner of his conscious mind idly noting how much of a love-struck youth he sounded like. But the majority of him felt as if a pile of gold had just filtered through his fingers and disappeared; disappointed, regretful, hopeful.
He had learned how to swim, but his arms were sluggish to move through the heavy water that made up his thoughts. Perhaps confessing would help clear his muddled head, for he was drowning in the strength of his emotions that he could never learn to control. But no, that could not do. He would just make a fool of admitting his seemingly unrequited love.
And what a fool he'd been.
'S been a while since I've posted anything, and dang, my writing was awful back then. On a different note, here's my entry for the contest, Trish! Hope you all like it. If I was supposed to put names in here, let me know, currently it just applies to whoever the reader wants it to. I can just meddle around a bit and try to find a few characters either in the RP or canon that fits this.
Hah. This is just like me - oh, there's a competition? Let me wait till the last few moments to actually write something!
Anyways, this is a crappy, over-sappy piece probably meant to mean, well, whatever you would like it to mean. I tried to explore the slightly regretful side to love, not that blissful happiness I see everywhere.
See ya'll later! Peace out!
-Tiger