Those Boys Are In Love

Walking past the pair, one couldn't help thinking those boys are in love. Their strides were perfectly matched and they had a way of ignoring the rest of the world as though the two were the only two that mattered and those boys were in love. They contrasted in every way, one messy, one tidy, one dark, one fair, one explosive, one calculating, one noble, one sly- but those boys were in love.

They walked through the park constantly, always talking, never taking in the change of season. They walked together through the summer in hushed tones, barbed comments and harassed glances. They walked through autumn in contemplation, harmonizing in a brand new way. They walked through winter comfortably, the cold a myth to them, snowflakes melted by the warmth of laughter. They walked through spring awkward, but in a good way, fallen pink petals brushed from blonde hair by calloused hands. Another summer and the rhythm was back, but with a new tenderness.

Who knows what those boys talked about? It never seemed to matter. What I saw in that park is something I'll never forget. Hatred, maybe something less than that, but certainly dislike, turning to love. I saw a haughty blonde-haired, grey-eyed boy fall for one with messy black hair, lightning green eyes and a peculiar scar. And as season after season passes, watching those two boys bicker and banter, hand-in-hand, one can only think those boys are in love.