The Heart's Eye

He told me I was beautiful, the man who's three children I had fallen in love with. I told him it was an impossible thing for him to say, given his condition. He smiled at me then, tilted his head heavenwards so that the sun's rays fell on him perfectly and said, "You see the way these rays compliment me? That's the way I see you. You feel as warm as it too. Not so much that it burns, just enough to let me know that you could if you wanted to. You are beautiful."

He told me I was beautiful, the man who's three children I would do anything for. I told him it was a questionable thing for him to say, given his condition. He inhaled the fresh air then, closed his eyes and said, "You are everything that feels good. The grass under bare feet, the gentle breeze against naked skin, the smell of freshly baked cookies on a Sunday morning. You are beautiful."

He told me I was beautiful, the man who's three children led me to him. I told him it was a funny thing for him to say, given his condition. He reached out to me then for the first time and with our hands folded into one, he said, "I love the way your hands fit in mine. You are beautiful."

He told me I was the beautiful, the man who couldn't see. The blind man with the three children I would die for. The man who only saw with his heart's eye.

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