State of Mind

Doves

I don't know how love works. I never claimed to. I'm just one broken woman with a million broken pieces. I listen to too much Five Finger Death Punch and not enough Selene Dion. I've seen too many violent movies and not enough romance films. I prefer watching Rocky Balboa beat Captain Ivan Drago to a bloody pulp than see Jack Dawson save Rose DeWitt from the icy waters. I have no problem watching a surgical procedure, but I gag at the sight of seeing a man or woman hopelessly gawk at the other as if they're the embodiment of Romeo and Juliet. None of that has ever been my forte.

Until I met her.

Even now as I watch her sleep, my eyes taking in the way the soft glow of the early hues dance across her face so perfectly, I am left in a trance. She is the definition of beauty. Not the beauty used to describe vanity, but the true and authentic kind that is raw and unmatchable. It is a pure and innocent kind that contrasts against the evil of this world. I am that world.

I love the way she breathes and how the soft snores escape through her parted lips. It's a sound I've grown too fond of hearing every night and morning. I love the way her body heat radiates against me. It's a warmth that fills the cold in my life. I love how her skin feels beneath my fingertips. It's a feeling I can't bear to part with. I love how her long brunette locks cascade off her pillow, each strand being highlighted by the dull morning gleams. They're one of the few things I don't mind tangling my fingers in. I love the mole on her left eyelid. It reminds me that she's comfortable around me with how she remains near with no makeup. I love her deep brown eyes and how the light dances in them when she's excited. They're deep pools of earthy stone that tells me she isn't afraid to meet my stare. I love her lips. I can't get enough of the way they bend into a smile...but more so...I can't get enough of the way they taste.

She tastes sweeter than any custard filling I've ever had. She feels softer than any velvet I've ever run my fingers along. She smells better than any flower's fragrance that's ever filled my nostrils. She is warmer than any blanket I've ever swaddled myself in. She is both fire and ice, stone and comfort, weak and strong, silent and loud, day and night, fierce and welcoming, rough and gentle; she is my yin and yang.

She is not perfect. In fact, she's far from it. She's so clumsy that she trips over her own toes and so awkward that it almost hurts at times. On top of that, she's infatuated with several things; music, the way the clouds roll in the breeze, taking pictures as if there's no tomorrow, and rocks and stones. She tells the same story three times, laughs at her own jokes regardless of how cheesy or corny they are, and watches too much anime at times. But, despite all her flaws and quirks, I can't help but feel happy with her.

True and unadulterated happiness sits with me when she is near.

I'm not saying she's my happiness, but she knows how to bring it out in me. Whenever we're together, she laces her fingers with mine, causing butterflies to flutter in my stomach. And when she laughs, I can't help but flush because it is a light and sweet sound. However, of all the things I do with her, my favorite is stargazing. Sometimes I sneak peeks at her as she marvels at God's jewels glittering in the twilight sky. She always looks so amazed, almost as if she knows she's so small compared to the universe.

We're both small. Just specks aimlessly drifting in the abyss with no plan and no destination, but in a twist of events and circumstances, she wound up in my bed. More than that, she found a place in my life. I thought I had been destined to spend my days in the bars, hoping to snag a one-night stand every now and again, but that wasn't how my life played out. That evidence lies here next to me, soundly sleeping as she dreams sweet dreams.

I smile, "How did someone like me get so lucky?"

The truth is just that; luck.

I never deserved a second glance from her, but in the end, I got one. I got more than one look, more than one date, more than one night spent with her, and more than one taste of her. So many memories we've made together from the first meeting to that very moment. It took a year to even admit that I had feelings for her, but even now, I can't believe I did it. Then again, if it wasn't for her friend, Claya, I doubt I would have ever said a thing. I would have just bit my tongue and hid my feelings. Thank God for Claya.