As cliche as it might sound, it was her eyes. Her irises were a shade of opaque green brightened by dark oak rings. The brown blazed about the iris, giving her eyes an earthy comfort. She had delicate lips, soft and warm. The natural curls of her hair teased my hands. The playful hide-and-go-seek that occurred as I lost my fingers in passion always filled me with a childish laughter. But it wasn't her hair, lips, or picturesque body that captured me, it was her eyes that drank in my soul. They penetrated my exterior and uncovered the secrets of character. They coaxed, seduced, and beckoned my vulnerability. Willingly I obliged her request to know me. How could I resist, her eyes captivated me. I would fall into her trance like sailors to the sirens, once in her grasp, all it took was a whisper to she enticed my offering. It was in one of these occasions, mesmerized in the doorway her heart and drunk to the lullaby of her voice that I realized I had fallen victim to the cupidinous arrow.
I don't think anyone can go a lifetime without considering the question, "So when do you know?". I am not an expert of love and attachment, I am not even a writer, but I know the answer to that question. I can't answer it for you boy. To those who understand what its like, I imagine they would agree in saying its like being a member of a secret fraternity. You have to pay your dues and once in, you can never leave.
When you get shot, the bullet either penetrates your body and goes through, or it gets lodged in the tabernacle of your being. Whether it departs your body in one whole piece or leaves a physical reminder stuck in the tissue, there always remains a scar. Your body, which was once whole, has now been tampered with. It is altered, damaged and weathered. The innocent and complete perfection it once had is gone. I imagine thats why the advice, "Don't worry, you will get over this...you just need to move on," never dissipates the pain. We all want to go back to how things were. We long for the naive dream where the roman god Amor introduces us to love with the gentility of a kiss. We reminisce to the moment when thought love would be like awakening from the cold night of winter to the rising day of spring. Instead of accepting the pain and adapting to the change, we try futilely to hide the scar along with our remorse.
Imagine yourself as a book. Your story is intimate and the reality of your existence is at times cruel and unforgiving. Your torn edges upon your binding are evidence of your mortality. Yet the most grave mistake you can make is fearing the scars of your experiences. If you try to hide from your past, you will lose the path to your future. You will proceed along a trail marked for you by fear. Your timid nature will suffocate the opportunities to realize your depth. Freedom is directly linked to how honest you are with yourself. Therefore son, open yourself up to the possibility of finding your future love by remembering not the pain of now, but the joy of before. She will one day love you like the owner of an aged novel. She will hug you with the same dependence she placed on the battered book she found companionship in as a child. You see, its your dents and impressions that make you perfect. Its your imperfections that she will fall in love with. Don't cower away after one battle, embrace the difficulty. You are now in the fraternity.
Photo Credit: Father and Son
