As I sat down, the wind blew through my hair. It was a gentle breeze; the kind you feel when the window of your car is cracked ever so slightly but you continue to drive anyway. It whistles in my ear, the same way the car window would. It goes through the cracks in my button-down shirt and through the eyelets of my shoes, and then it’s gone.
The sun is shining off the sidewalk outside the corner of the window as if I was among the clouds. The gentle sound of conversation flows through the shop. Cars drive by, the sounds all distant even though they are outside the window. The table has a unique texture, as if it has been painted and sanded countless times. There are more grooves from where coins have spun and forks have been dropped. There is a small circle around my coffee, my contribution to the table’s soul. The window seals have cracks and crevasses in them that I’m sure have heard more secrets than anyone in the room. There you are.
I admire you as you walk around the corner. The sun is kissing your skin lavishly, as if God himself is taking a picture. The gentle breeze returns, this time blowing your hair over your ear. It looks exactly like it did when I said goodbye this morning. You have it tied, but with a piece hanging off to the side; God how I love it. You’re yards away from the table but I could watch you all day. As you walk towards me in your favorite white dress with the faded flower pattern, the one that has seen so many things. The wind blows your dress around your leg, cuffing it. The outline of your resplendent body races the eyes of passersby.
You see me, sitting. I see your eyes, your deep, entrancing, transcending eyes. They have the reflection of the city in them, they are busy like the market down the corner, but calm like the time we went to the beach and watched the waves for hours. You’re wearing your Chuck Taylors, the black ones with one pair of laces shorter than the other, but nobody knows that. With every step that you come closer, I see the flawlessness of your complexion, the glisten from your skin, the comfort of your presence just like when you are in your bed as a kid and the world can’t touch you. You grasp the patio gate. The ring on your finger glints from a peak of light between the canvas umbrellas. You stumble on the leg of a table, but you catch yourself and laugh. Your laugh, its sound, it nullifies all other things. It’s perfect, it’s peace. It’s the same laugh you got at the beach, or when we burnt our first dinner we ever tried to make. Along with your sly smirk, the top corner of your lip tenses and your eyes squint. Then you pull out a chair and take a seat. And I go back to my coffee, while I listen to you laugh – with him.
~ Kevin Meyer | Edited by Nandini
Image source: pixabay.com