It was a Saturday morning in early October and the weather was just starting to turn brisk. Early enough in the season that I was still excited that I could start wearing layers, but late enough that I wasn't the only one. I was sitting outside of my favorite cafe wearing my most comfortable sweater with a cup of hot cocoa, enjoying the juxtaposition of the chill air and the warmth of my drink as it spread through my chest. I had a silly grin on my face, breathing in the scent of chocolate and spice, my hands wrapped around the cardboard cup, staring off at nothing. But I wasn't so wrapped in my own world that I didn't see her walking down the street towards me.
She was wearing a pair of leggings, a baggy sweatshirt, and was carrying a side bag. Her long dark hair was pulled back away from her face with a narrow headband, the length of it pulled over one shoulder. She was slender, the graceful movement of her walk supple, but the play of the sweatshirt against her body hinted at softness beneath. Her face could not have been shaped more perfectly by the finest sculptor. The curve of her jawline, the full lips curved artfully at the corners, her cheeks slightly reddened in the cold all combined to a whole that stopped my breath for a moment. But what struck me most were her eyes. The color a intermixing of green and blue, blended together, and they spoke to me of joy and light. She glanced at me briefly as she turned to go in to the coffee shop and I felt my cup start to slip in my numb fingers. It was obvious she was there to work, but in her step was the buoyancy of self-confidence and happiness.
She was out of my sight, but not out of my mind. I hadn't realized beauty like that existed. I took another sip of my cocoa to ease the constriction in my chest and get my heart to regulate its beating again. My mind felt wrapped in a blanket of images, replaying the moment of her appearance again and again. I shook my head trying to clear the haze. She was beautiful, certainly, but I knew that she had to have a husband, or a boyfriend, and would never speak to me, let alone be mine.
I stood, the levity of the morning's diversion shattered in that moment of clarity. As I walked away I glanced inside and saw her pulling a book and notepad out of the bag beside her armchair, legs drawn up into the seat. Forcing my eyes down to the sidewalk I picked up my pace retreating from the vision of her.
It took me the rest of the day to get over the depression that only true beauty can cause me, but by the time the sun was setting I was back to my semi-jovial self and was ready to face the world again. By then I was able to file away the sight of her along with great works of art as something to be admired but not touched. With that perception I was able to prepare myself to go to a party a friend of mine was hosting with renewed confidence that I would have a good time.
I reluctantly left my comfy sweatshirt at home, and wore a jacket over a blue button up shirt to the party. I didn't know who I was trying to impress, but I figured going out to a social event warranted a little more effort.
She was wearing a pair of leggings, a baggy sweatshirt, and was carrying a side bag. Her long dark hair was pulled back away from her face with a narrow headband, the length of it pulled over one shoulder. She was slender, the graceful movement of her walk supple, but the play of the sweatshirt against her body hinted at softness beneath. Her face could not have been shaped more perfectly by the finest sculptor. The curve of her jawline, the full lips curved artfully at the corners, her cheeks slightly reddened in the cold all combined to a whole that stopped my breath for a moment. But what struck me most were her eyes. The color a intermixing of green and blue, blended together, and they spoke to me of joy and light. She glanced at me briefly as she turned to go in to the coffee shop and I felt my cup start to slip in my numb fingers. It was obvious she was there to work, but in her step was the buoyancy of self-confidence and happiness.
She was out of my sight, but not out of my mind. I hadn't realized beauty like that existed. I took another sip of my cocoa to ease the constriction in my chest and get my heart to regulate its beating again. My mind felt wrapped in a blanket of images, replaying the moment of her appearance again and again. I shook my head trying to clear the haze. She was beautiful, certainly, but I knew that she had to have a husband, or a boyfriend, and would never speak to me, let alone be mine.
I stood, the levity of the morning's diversion shattered in that moment of clarity. As I walked away I glanced inside and saw her pulling a book and notepad out of the bag beside her armchair, legs drawn up into the seat. Forcing my eyes down to the sidewalk I picked up my pace retreating from the vision of her.
It took me the rest of the day to get over the depression that only true beauty can cause me, but by the time the sun was setting I was back to my semi-jovial self and was ready to face the world again. By then I was able to file away the sight of her along with great works of art as something to be admired but not touched. With that perception I was able to prepare myself to go to a party a friend of mine was hosting with renewed confidence that I would have a good time.
I reluctantly left my comfy sweatshirt at home, and wore a jacket over a blue button up shirt to the party. I didn't know who I was trying to impress, but I figured going out to a social event warranted a little more effort.
