The Love of My Life in The Love of my Life

She is the love of my life.

She was my storybook moment.

Fairy tales sometimes exist.

And this girl, well, she was my very wish upon a shooting star.

It came true.

Even if for only a time, but what a moment in time it was.

The greatest experience I have ever been allowed to curl my fingers around and delight in having it beat in rhythm with my breathing, heaving chest. Cradling it so gently next to my beating heart.

Oh, when I write my sonnets of suffering, of heartbreak, and of never-ending rose petal promises, well, I am almost always writing about her.

She colored my sky different shades.

Broke my candy-hard shell of hiding right, wide and terrifyingly open.

You see, the moment precisely before I first met her I was woefully unaware.

Then when I laid my innocent, brown eyes upon her.

That’s when the stormclouds that enshrouded my head were chased away by the sparkle of sunlight bursting from the darkened sky as if it were chasing the night and our very existence were reliant upon that chase.

Upon its claim.

That moment when I rested my sight upon her I discovered a gift. The kind of awe and fascination a child has when he first sees a present wrapped beneath a yuletide tree and the tag wore his name.

I did not know angels really did exist.

And that they would ever lay their soft, Crescent City heart upon me.

That I might actually have her look my way.

I did not realize I could fall in love with a moment.

And oh, I did.

So hard and swift I fell and met the pavement, but instead of scars she left me with so much more, so many shades of gray.

This is the story of the greatest moment in my life.

I was sitting in a van listening to music played by a red-haired boy with freckles and the craziest mane you could ever imagine on a Gothic boy, and he’s just blasting out of his speakers harmonies laced with profanity.

And outside the van were three girls, but that is only a number.

The other two did not exist for all intents.

Only one was dancing without care, as if the beat and rhythm of the music meant everything to her and she could not live without movement. Her feet needed to pop and prance in such an authentic and precious way.

These words ring hollow as they hang empty like a stocking above a fireplace before Christmas Day.

They will be beautiful, and pretty, and imperfect.

Because words cannot describe an angel.

And she was a 16-year-old girl dancing with blonde curly locks framing her face with strands of green dyed strands in a mess of a hairstyle.

She wore a tight leather miniskirt that hugged her curvy form as if it were a warm blanket you cozy into perfectly on the sofa you lounge upon on a rainy day.

The book you flip through would be the halter top that held her ample chest so tantalizing tight that I could not control my eyes.

I could not look away.

I was staring at the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes upon.

And she was holding a pixie stick and downing it when her soft, ocean blue eyes found their way to mine.

And she did not look away.

For the entirety of the song,which lasted hours in my mind yet only minutes outside my head she held her gaze.

Our eyes locked.

And she danced more provocatively with each second crawling forward agonizingly slow.

This was intoxication sans alcohol.

I was drunk on her beauty.

Staggered by her grace.

Desperate for her name.

Does love at first sight exist?

I would say no, but I have experienced the closest approximation to giving it credence.

This would be the first girl I ever fell in love with.

And that moment I spoke of that was candy apple coating and wistfully magic?

That moment would not happen for well over a year.

And that moment would again be with her.

But I’ll reflect upon that in a moment.

I finally found out her name.

I was an awkward 18-year-old boy who had never had a date with a girl.

Not even a kiss.

And she would give me so many firsts that she owns layers of my piecemeal heart that no one else can ever claim.

Monique is her name

Monique.

And she more than any other girl I have loved shaped me the most into the man I am today.

That Cinderella moment I spoke of?

Perhaps that will be a story for me to reflect upon another day.

This is not how this story ends.

May you always find your smile.

Last updated December 10, 2015