"She said, 'I don't know if I've ever been really loved by a hand that's touched me.'"
It was amazing that she stood there. That she existed the way she did, in that very moment, with that mind and that hair and those hands.
She stood there against that barbed wire fence and bore her soul. From those doe eyes and well-formed lips, she gave a story of tears. The men that forgot her, the women that ignored her. The way she had lived her whole life and couldn't imagine love.
This from the woman that must have been born to bring passion. From the person God seemed to have granted every gift.
I wanted to touch her. So that maybe she would feel. Wanted to hold her hand tightly, so that she could understand. I wanted her. And there was nothing greater I could imagine, nothing more I could want.
But I was young. So I just listened and wondered how she could not know.
Showing posts with label longing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label longing. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
if only for one night
"Your eyes say things I never hear from you."
Damon had sat across the room from Marisol everyday for the past eight months. She came into the cafeteria each day at 12:15. She got a tuna sandwich, some piece of fruit, and an apple juice. Everyday. And then she sat alone, eating her lunch and reading.
Damon would eat his lunch quickly so he could be done by the time she arrived. Then he would ogle her quietly around the edges of his newspaper.
Maybe it was the books she was reading, but Damon had become mesmerized by her face. Despite the monotony she manifested by her daily lunch routine, Marisol's eyes exposed another side of her. Sometimes they were bursting with adventure, sometimes they were brimming with intrigue, and others they were overcome with emotion.
Marisol would read and these dormant desires for adventure and romance would surface on her face. Damon would watch and share in these desires vicariously.
But his favorite part came five minutes before going back. Marisol would close the book, throw away her food stuff, and stand near the small window overlooking the parking lot. She would reflect what she just read. It was always then that Damon could see the longing on her face. The want for her life to be more. Damon's reflected the same look of longing; only he longed for Marisol to see him.
Damon had sat across the room from Marisol everyday for the past eight months. She came into the cafeteria each day at 12:15. She got a tuna sandwich, some piece of fruit, and an apple juice. Everyday. And then she sat alone, eating her lunch and reading.
Damon would eat his lunch quickly so he could be done by the time she arrived. Then he would ogle her quietly around the edges of his newspaper.
Maybe it was the books she was reading, but Damon had become mesmerized by her face. Despite the monotony she manifested by her daily lunch routine, Marisol's eyes exposed another side of her. Sometimes they were bursting with adventure, sometimes they were brimming with intrigue, and others they were overcome with emotion.
Marisol would read and these dormant desires for adventure and romance would surface on her face. Damon would watch and share in these desires vicariously.
But his favorite part came five minutes before going back. Marisol would close the book, throw away her food stuff, and stand near the small window overlooking the parking lot. She would reflect what she just read. It was always then that Damon could see the longing on her face. The want for her life to be more. Damon's reflected the same look of longing; only he longed for Marisol to see him.
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