Monday, June 28, 2010

He's got one of those faces that are just naturally handsome; he looks old and young at the same time. Names and flowers and ships are inked into his skin. His big blue piercing eyes give away that he's seen too much for a man his age; the ex marine sits in the chair and stares intently at nothing as we all etch his face into paper with dusty charcoal and graphite sticks.
He talks gravely and factually about the war and college, and the mountains of Afghanistan and the white sandy beaches of the ivory coast. The old woman asks him about his wife, and for the first time all night, his eyes twinkle. Although he's far too old to blush about a girl, he does, and informs us that she's gorgeous. Three times.
And he sits there with a smile on his face, looking up into nothingness of ceiling tiles, picturing his lady. You can tell he's so lost in it, but only for a few seconds; then, he snaps back into reality, and I'm just lost in the still and the beauty of that moment.

And all I can think is, I want a love like that.

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