I can't express the emotion I felt to open that email. Rory. She was the love of my life at one point and I couldn't seem to get her off my mind. Regardless of the expensive scotch Colin gave or the girls of an equally dangerous alcohol level arrived at my door, those blue eyes never left my mind. It had been months and everyday I pulled out that engagement ring, everyday glancing upon a life I had planned so well I forgot the kill switch. Every glistening cut was another blow to the heart, that this beautiful ring designed for one woman only, would never adorn her hand.
So imagine my surprise when I received that email. I seemed to thrust down the hope to be with her again by imagining what ever tall, dark, handsome country boy she must wear the ring of now. Someone a lot less complicated. So I used the phone number, still saved in my phone, and called my Helen of Troye.
I prepped for the party tonight. The girl of my dreams showing back up again. I seemed to laugh at myself once more when I thought of how pathetic my thinking truly was. How sad it was that I, an infamous bachelor, was pawning over something of my past.
That was until her glowing face arrived at that party. She hugged my sister and talked with the single most beautiful smile I had ever seen. Perfection.
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How many nights had those same eyes captivated my dreams?
Unsure if they were nightmares or not, I sat lamenting on the years I spent with this woman before me. That smile that would suddenly disappear when her eyes met mine. Yet in that moment I couldn't help but appeal to Picasso or even Hemingway,
There she stood in the moonlight
Ever crossing her perfect face
Those eyes that captured mine like the turquoise oceans of the Maldives
Lips that had seen many a smile
And skin with the likeness of a silk cloth
Strewn about a miraculous art piece of design
The holy deity glancing just upon the lips of the woman
Lips that with their smile had felt many a kiss
Laden with emotions of despair
As the woman, just as present
Stood as mythical and untouched as the likes of a nymph or siren
Calling the forboden sailor to his gruesome demise
One that he approached with such rigor and excitement
