"Just love her... Love will always win."
Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong but rejoices in the...
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SHE HAS seen pictures of fall before on pinterest. That is the only season she wishes she were able to experience because here in Kenya, there is no such thing as fall. If it exists though, it is so subtle that it's barely noticeable.
She has seen in pictures the way orange leaves carpet the ground, falling and falling until there's nothing left to fall. She has never before seen falling depicted so beautifully. The creative earnestness of the season is dreamy, so to say.
If Hope is to describe Lawrence, from the minimal civilized interactions the two have had, she will describe him as the fall season. Everything she can think of about the season points to his gentle nature.
It is in the way the leaves shed by the trees fall down gently on the ground with an inaudible thud. It is in how colorful the season is. The way the orange adds mood to the whole environment, charging it with a certain depth of intimacy. That's how Lawrence adds color to her very neutral colored canvas. She is the painter, she should be. But for some reason, when it come to this guy, she feels like Lawrence is holding the brushes, painting her life.
All Hope can remark is that Lawrence is adding too much color onto the canvas—more than she's used to and strangely, she does not mind. The more sensible part of her claims that she's being superstitious, that magic is for kids and that she barely knows the guy but there is a slightly stronger part of her that pulls at the opposite chord of that logic, urging her to trust her instincts as she has always done. The latter part of her is calm and yet it settles on her like the heavy weight of an ocean so much so that she can't ignore it.
She is surprised herself, that she is not snapping at the guy as usual, or him at her. But she must admit, the silence and wordless understanding are good for a change.
Hope's smile is still lingering on her lips, like the aftermath of a rainbow, showing traces of her mirth. When was it that she stopped to appreciate nature? When was the last time that she put aside the weight on her shoulders and simply breathed in the hopeful evening air? She has been hopelessly stressed out but for some reason, she feels energized, as if dawn is breaking and hope bubbling from withing her. She feels the strength to move forward, never mind the fact that she is not sure which direction to follow.
Trust. Something seems to whisper in her heart. Trust who? Trust what? Herself? The process? Lawrence? Hope doesn't know. Maybe, she made up that silent, still voice or maybe she didn't. But how is one word supposed to help her anyway?
Still, she lets down her guard, if only for a moment, just to appreciate this wondrous moment, as the sun slowly dances away to its rest, as the colors take over the clouds in seamless patterns.
She knows that she is being careless and stupid and that she will regret lowering her guard, when this guy comes around and breaks her heart.
It will not be that painful though, will it? Not after all the times that she has heard the shattering sound and felt the painful crack of her heart, signal yet another disappointment, yet another betrayal, yet another abandonment.
