I find myself staring. It would be hard not to. Everything and everyone is moving, wondering, laughing. My world is immovably focused on her. As time passes, she haphazardly glances at me. I flinch, and try not to look too caught off guard. But she notices, smiles, and wanders on in her mind, and in mine. There's something special about infatuation. She is ravishingly beautiful. It feels as if we've already spent an eternity together. It feels as if we belong together. It feels like we've always been together, and always will be. And right as I'm being engulfed by pure, eternal, love...
Woken up by the sunlight seeping in between the cracks of the ceiling, he makes his way towards the table in the center of the room. From the old bookcase, he picks up the first book he can reach and places it at the round table. He starts up a small fire and boils some water with leaves from the garden, neatly tied together. The smell of tea fills each and every corner of the wooden house. As he sits down and takes his first sip, he hears her coughing from the bedroom. He brings her a few slices of bread and some tea, and sits by her side.
I miss her already, I think to myself, as the rain trails along my forehead. There is no telling when we will meet again.
Maybe...you'll fall in love with me all over again."
"Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?"
"Yes. I want to ruin you."
"Good," I said. "That's what I want too.
- Ernest Hemingway. A farewell to Arms.
|
