It was not a perfect scene in a book or movie, though it wasn't awkward either.
We were like two old friends who never had to say anything to understand. It was like we'd known each other... forever. But, no. I would've known.
I put my hand to my face, hiding my eyes from the world. I didn't even know her name, and yet she pulled my hands from my face and held them in hers. She stared into my eyes, telling me it was okay silently.
I stared into her startling blue eyes. The ones I had dreamed of. The ones I had wished for.
She held my hand as we sat on a park bench, staring out at the water. I looked up, my eyes finding the top of the Eiffel tower. I don't remember moving to Paris, but I'm glad I did. Again, my eyes were drawn from one piece of mastery to another.
Me and the woman just held hands, watching each other. We let the world be, trapped in our own little bubble of time. I stared at her and she stared at me and, somehow, the touch of the mind, of the soul more intimate than any physical contact ever imagined.
YOU ARE READING
The Journeys of a Lost Soul
Roman d'amourThe journeys of a lost soul through time and space. As it tries to move on to Higher, will it find its purpose in the bodies of others who wish to be fixed?
