Perfection

Whoever said that one's home was their sanctuary, clearly did not know what they were talking about. A whole year I had spent, in Paris, the city of love, in an attempt to find myself a suitor. An only daughter I was, and so I was to search for a husband to take my father's riches and titles. A year in vain, I would have to tell them. I would have to describe monsters as the men I had courted, to subtly imply that there was no use in pursuit of such an endeavour again. However, the truth was that I hadn't even tried. If I took home a male lover, my parents would rejoice, but I wouldn't, my heart already belonged to the woman of my dreams.

Lesbianism, in my parents' eyes, was a curse or an illness, something that was not right. It just did not fit into society, the rules made did not support such a step. I remember, as more girls like me made themselves known, they were shunned or overtly criticised by those who they thought were trusting. It was for that reason why I held this secret close and far from the negativity that poured from society.

It was spring, and there she stood...perfection. Delicate but sturdy, polite but resilient. I stood there upon the ferry and glanced her way. The glance turned into a stare, I relished the sight of her, and felt this weird sensation, her giggling was the sweetest sound I had heard. And then she turned, umbrella in her hand, and I truly saw her, and for a brief moment, understood love. As the boat began to depart, we then made eye contact, and she smiled at me. At that moment my heart began to melt, for I knew that I loved her, but feared that we could never be together.