By Jessica McClendon, 2018
There was a man walking down the street today. His shoulders slightly slumped, his gait long and strong.
His head bowed as he lowered his gaze to the phone in his hand. He typed away feverishly with his thumb; an amused tinge tugging at the corner of his adorably crooked mouth.
He is young and he is beautiful. Not muscle bound or tan, but with a strong nose and dewy skin. He looks kissed by an ancient god – as if he belonged in a painting, surrounded by nymphs and muses who fan him as he stretches out in a meadow with a twig of leaves falling from his open palm.
I sat in my car and watched him. Almost hearing the laugh he huffed to himself. He was oblivious to the watching. Oblivious to the world, only glancing up to stay on course and maneuver around the people who pressed and shoved while going somewhere.
“Ah” I smiled. “He’s in love.”
And suddenly, I got the feeling that whoever was on the other end of the phone was the only girl he’d ever love. He would only open like this once and if someone must come after, they would never get this man again.
Hopefully, no one must come after her.
Because even on his deathbed, I would bet that the last beat in his heart will be a reaction to the memory of her face.