Why do I study her? These are the questions I always ask myself. Deep down, I want to know what her heart thinks. Is it me or the problems of her day?
Her fingertips tracing the rim of a coffee mug made of recycled materials reminds me that souls can be reborn repeatedly. Even when we don’t realize it, our faces are changing. Some grow softer, and some harden with time. Her face remains as lovely as it was the day I first saw her—the softness of the outline of her cheeks.
How many years have I kissed them? To this day, I cannot see myself living without her. It’s a true blessing to know love. The steam rises from her coffee, lifting itself from the mug and filling her nose. Like a rose, she takes in the scent of the black coffee. As she closes her eyes, savoring the aroma, I wonder if she’s breathing in the moment or searching for something more profound—something her heart has yet to reveal.
When my eyes first met hers, I fell in love with the young girl from the small town of Lyon, France. Now, 30 years later, the song her eyes play still gives my heart reasons to dance slowly around the fire of desire.
To desire her is remembering that the world often believes love isn’t tangible. But thinking so steals the most precious thing we have: time. Time has shown me that love, in its purest form, isn’t measured by moments that slip away but by the memories we create in the spaces between.
It’s like cream greeting coffee, mixing sweetness with bitterness, letting your taste buds run wild like wild horses in the mountains of Spain. Love cannot be explained, nor do I want it to be. You don’t find love by scrolling through screens or images on a feed.
It’s in the quiet sunsets of November when the cold air pushes us closer, and her warmth becomes the fire that burns within my thoughts as the first snow begins to fall. The snow sends a chill in the air, giving us a reason to light the fireplace. With my eyes closed, I let the crackle from the fire take me away, outside my body. I reflect on my heart being lost in the wild, with no trail or path to find myself.
I was lost under the stars, feeling the world’s vastness as I sat beneath the dark blue sea, trapped in the pattern of not being seen. I was sinking without a life vest, my head submerged within my depths, my soul reaching out, feeling the breeze from the air as I sank deeper into the ocean’s bliss. My ears were filled only with the hum of the water filter, a vibration that seemed to reach for my spirit.
So even when I couldn’t see it, I knew my heart deserved love, even if my eyes couldn’t recognize it. There lived the hum in the darkness of night, chasing the stars away from the city lights and into the silhouette of the mountains. The beat that only I could hear came from the tapping on the trees, as if the branches were trying to get my attention, or from the flicker of the flames, where the tranquility of time stands still.
In these moments, I learned to appreciate life’s little things—the sounds surrounding me, creating a calmness filled with power. Clearing my eyes, that’s how I found you. From the moment I first saw you, there was a power in emotion I had never felt before.
Like the raspiness of a saxophone or the soulful sounds of Otis, I’ve often wondered why he sang the way he did—so full of heart. The lovely floral scent of fresh tulips is reminiscent of other flowers but somehow more vibrant, like you. You blended in so well with others, yet yours was the only face I saw in a room full of strangers. Their scent could not fool me; as you stood there, my heart was captivated.
Even without ever hearing your voice, I heard you. Your spirit reached toward me, pulling me away from my problems and lifting my head above the waters. I realize now that you were always the hum, the flicker of flames burning bright, waiting to be placed within me. You were there to warm my bones from the cold as I sat by the sea. You were always the stars that lit up the dark blue sky.
The current that pulls me to safety eases my thoughts of stress as your waters wash over me. Maybe that’s why I study her—or perhaps how her fingertips trace over my lips, making me always want to know what her heart is thinking.
Love is reborn, running wild in the mountains of Spain. Two hums flicker in the dark—a love beyond explanation, and nor should it be.
