The amount of people: natives & tourists would make anyone dizzy—but she was not focused on the swarm—her gaze had landed on a stop sign, a stop sign that had become a perch for a bird. An insight began to form—the red of the stop sign topped with the red of the fat little bird—she could see how human red was halting and that nature’s red was pulsing with life, she could not see it from the distance at which she found herself—but she could feel that life expanding and contracting in the chest of that bird. The insight was becoming pure—nature’s red was about living and man’s red was about not dying. The insight was now a part of her—she did not care if others had had it before her or if she was the first—it was now just within her—making her newer—her body was aligning with her soul and she could feel it taking place—the moment—she was becoming a witness to herself.
The experience had prevented her from seeing the young man making his way through the dense crowds—his gaze firmly on her—never breaking, which made him bump into more fellows than needed be. The young man had made way through the bulk of the fleshy traffic and found himself not far from the object of his gaze—his own soul, so entwined with his body, kept him from following her gaze—he had no interest in birds atop signs. He continued to move confidently toward her. Her soul felt the approach of something serious and turned toward it—her body, lagging imperceptibly behind, caught up.
She was surprised and pleased to see the figure drawn to her. He was before her in a few strides—his pace did not vary at all—one would think he had counted out the steps beforehand—to come to rest at what was the perfect distance from her—just within reach of her, which he took advantage of—he reached out and took her arms in his hands—his gaze resting on her face. “I love you.” The words started an earthquake—that is why he had taken her by the arms—just to keep her from falling. The words became pure again—they became the ancient poem they had always been. The purity of the poem came from the truth that he had no interest in knowing if she loved him—his love was enough and her knowing it was all that he desired.
For the second time in a single day the gap between her soul and her body closed a little more.
Creative Director at ICONODULY and publisher at Horse Smith Press, see more of his proclivities here: http://on.fb.me/N3taM9