I sit unmoving, similar to the rock beneath me, and watch the dark sky twinkle with magnificent lights. This does not give me the illusion that time has paused to give me some more time with the guy I've loved for the better part of my life.
As beautiful as the sky above me is, I cannot keep my eyes on it for long because next to me, there's a beauty not many have come by, a beauty only a heart that has loved, with all its might and soul, like I have, can understand.
Daniel Adams. I look at him now and see all the things that have made so many girls fall in love with him; the medium, naturally wavy and intentionally messy strands of brown hair that breadth over his catastrophic blue eyes with flecks of silver that shoot out bullets of honesty and integrity — eyes that could be beautiful in any shade. The thick eyelashes that ought to be illegal. One could reference the features of Daniel's face using 'moulded from granite' without any hesitation; the prominent jaw, chin and cheekbones.
Looking into his eyes I see grace. I see a magic that can only originate from the purest of souls. His look penetrates my soul and turns my insides into jam. It's not just how he makes love to me with his gaze alone. It's the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not looking. This is when I see a guy who isn't just my best friend but a guy who would walk through fire to get to me. A guy that would die for me, or, less tragic, a guy that would, and always has, put my happiness before his own. He is beauty in its purest form, he's love, he's the truth, he's a dream come true, he's my everyday prayer but most importantly he's everything a girl could ever need.
This is the reason numerous girls desire him. But it is for this mass love by beautiful, established, successful older women — that I still don't get why he chose me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not questioning God nor condemning him, after all, he knew when he created Daniel that two years later he'd create me just for the sole purpose of loving him beyond reason.
Daniel always says that there is something about me that he can't get enough of. He tells me he can't stay away from me; not that he wants to. He usually says without me in this world his life would resemble the moon that won't allow room for the sun; unimaginable.
He's lying against the navy quilt I bought him four birthdays ago when he was fourteen, the dry ferns have no choice but to reshape themselves around the force of his weight.
"Beautiful isn't it," I say, and tilt my head back to look at the sky for a second.
"Very beautiful," he concurs. But he's looking at me with an underlying passion; the look of love is clearer than words could ever articulate.
I smile at him but he doesn't return it. He's just looking at me and then he's eyes fill with moisture. Daniel never cries. Not even when his mother had a death scare. But he's crying now. He's not sad though. My heart swells. Breathe, Clara.
"What?" I ask.
His fingers follow the outline of my face. He looks at me as though he's trying to memorise the scene and then he lifts my chin a little. He drops his head and I waver, not because I don't want to but because he rejected me once and I'm certain I won't survive the embarrassment once more. He pauses and his eyes meet mine, there's a question there, one I reply to with a nod.
Our lips meet then. For the first time. He's delicious. And I'm quite certain he has mystical powers because when he pulls back I'm disoriented and shivering in the stifling heat.