"He thought he was going to die"
The first time he saw her..
.. he thought..
.. he was going..
.. to die.
He thought he was in a dream, but the strength pumping in his heart, like warm wine, reminded him he was very much alive.
Very much alive.
Transfixed.
Breathing better than he ever had.
More ready to die.
More ready to remain behind that bush, mouth just barely open, gazing at this, this thing that left him absolutely and certainly convinced of miracles. He fit. He was complete. He was whole and fixed and no longer broken. He had the strength of 20 men and the gentleness of a mother. And he could have just watched and been content just to see her, know she was there, know she existed. He could have gone without food or water..
.. just..
.. to look..
.. at her.
Her.
This unicorn of a woman. This nymph. This miracle. This muse. This. beauty. Slowly walking, running her slender, white finger tips over the tops of the green bushes that swayed in the wind like her long, light, wavy hair. Humming, picking little white flowers thoughtfully and absent- mindedly, raising her svelte arms and relinquishing the flowers to the will of the wind.
But she was most beautiful when she was absolutely still. Her posture like a soldier and queen at the same time, her stare at a fixed, but distant point, her eyes like gray-blue glass. Like dykes barely holding tears back. Her smile of one who knew pain and looked both ways before taking a deep breath and relaxing.
His gaze was so intent, he thought he needed only to stretch his hand another inch to touch her. To absolutely confirm this mythological creature existed.
And he breathed. Long, slow, and deep. Just watching. Or rather, unconsciously having his sight carried. And breathed like he was asleep. The span of time didn't enter his mind. Neither did his frail health.
His slip into unconsciousness was quick and painless.
The first time he saw her..
.. he thought..
.. he was going..
.. to die.
He thought he was in a dream, but the strength pumping in his heart, like warm wine, reminded him he was very much alive.
Very much alive.
Transfixed.
Breathing better than he ever had.
More ready to die.
More ready to remain behind that bush, mouth just barely open, gazing at this, this thing that left him absolutely and certainly convinced of miracles. He fit. He was complete. He was whole and fixed and no longer broken. He had the strength of 20 men and the gentleness of a mother. And he could have just watched and been content just to see her, know she was there, know she existed. He could have gone without food or water..
.. just..
.. to look..
.. at her.
Her.
This unicorn of a woman. This nymph. This miracle. This muse. This. beauty. Slowly walking, running her slender, white finger tips over the tops of the green bushes that swayed in the wind like her long, light, wavy hair. Humming, picking little white flowers thoughtfully and absent- mindedly, raising her svelte arms and relinquishing the flowers to the will of the wind.
But she was most beautiful when she was absolutely still. Her posture like a soldier and queen at the same time, her stare at a fixed, but distant point, her eyes like gray-blue glass. Like dykes barely holding tears back. Her smile of one who knew pain and looked both ways before taking a deep breath and relaxing.
His gaze was so intent, he thought he needed only to stretch his hand another inch to touch her. To absolutely confirm this mythological creature existed.
And he breathed. Long, slow, and deep. Just watching. Or rather, unconsciously having his sight carried. And breathed like he was asleep. The span of time didn't enter his mind. Neither did his frail health.
His slip into unconsciousness was quick and painless.