It’s time again! Thank you for this prompt Diana! I’ve decided to let my imagination run freely! Come with me! Let’s open this time capsule together!😉
Pixabay image by Brigitte Werner
I stroke the blank page in fury. He was an intruder in my dreams after all.
For months he would visit me every night, no days off, or holiday, or any disappointments!
I would open the door for him every time.
The nonsensical segments of a sketch progressively became more refined.
I am creating life from a blank page.
His curls were midnight black.
His shirt was torn apart.
His prominent bones in his shoulders and face, and a thickness to his skin.
His chiseled and rippled muscles across his chest…
He was a dreamy part of my imagination, simultaneously a love and an unreachable man within my mind.
His eyes never find me, he averts me,
and that becomes in itself an enticing detail that grabs me further.
Some days I think he has a dark brown eyes, filled with pain and hidden trauma glistened in the tiny haze of light.
Others’ the most wonderful eyes – they are blue, mostly, but darken to grey in correspondence to his mood.
He seldom smiles with his lips, but I think it is his eyes that shine instead, and it is this radiance that generates in me the irresistible impulse to smile, too.
His face lightens up, full of hope, full of love.
My pencil continued moving with a mind on its own…
The more details it grasps, the more drawn in I am.
When my world explodes from the inside he’s the man I want next to me.
He feels the shockwave and stays on his feet.
He’ll stay right there until I can breathe.
Then he stands back and lets me get back on with my life.
Once the storm has passed his shoulder is only for crying on when you can’t stand alone…
He expects me to build inner strength, resilience.
Our relationship currency are hugs, careful words and thoughtful deeds.
He’ll see me as an equal, but he’ll expect me to act as one.
Half man, half machine, a heart of a lion and a soul of an angel.
And the pencil gives life to these thoughts…
I could rush to him in an attempt to catch him unguarded for a chance of looking inside his eyes… What colour, I wonder, would gaze at me?
Would he smile? Would he caress my face?
Is he a man? Or perhaps a machine?!
How would his accent sound?
I close my eyes and I imagine his accent as a playful tune, as if he were the star of his own movie. I could have sat there all day simply to listen and smile.
The eyes never lie – if I could say but four words to advise one on how to understand the presence of this man in my thoughts, those would be the four I’d choose. Though he did not look at me yet.
I stop abruptly and observe my work in awe.
Here he is.
He become all the more striking and real.
He is handsome in my dreams alright, but inside he is beautiful…What he is comes from deep within; I shouldn’t be staring like this but I feel safe to look while he is half turned away.
So I give him my heart and keep his safe behind the watch shield.
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