If I closed my eyes long enough, I could see her. My mind perfectly painted the memory of her in the wheat field; I could never forget. I could recall every detail—the wispy, raven hair, her ivory skin and I could recall her bare feet feeling the wheat and the grass beneath her. I could remember her way of walking, the careless trip-step that she had never noticed. I could see her full, pink lips in the back of my mind and her shining, brilliant smile appeared. My mind whirled and I could see her eyes, her sinfully pale blue eyes with those rich and dark eyelashes that made my face grow hotter with every bat. She could always stare right through me. I remembered her dancing in the yellow wheat field, hands reaching into the sky of blue with her long, delicate fingertips barely grazing the clouds. I knew that she loved the freedom, the wild, windy freedom of it. I could still picture her rolling in the grain, and I remember myself thinking how utterly incredible it looked.
I think I may be in love with someone who doesn't exist.
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Through Her Eyes
General Fiction"Perspective is limited without a partner." ~Benjamin A story of love without boundaries.
