Halted heart, the look lingered just a touch too long. No direction left but toward the end; the optimistic call it moving forward. Personally I prefer staying in place, as the lack of advancement leaves little room for surprises. Surprises are messy, and truth be told they break my heart more often than not. Tonight, the world was not on my side. I'd remarked the many constellations visible on this famous night, noticed how the streetlights carefully complimented the colours of the autumn trees, and I could tell something was different. Something - wrong. The temperature cold enough to raise your hair, warm enough to be outside anyway. It was almost like being unable to focus, but at the same time it was all I could do. First it was my footsteps, padding along the pavement, it bothered me how the time between the sounds had varied. I remember noticing the reason behind it - my refusal to step on the cracks, leaving my steps at awkward intervals, varying distances from the ones before. I remember wondering how I'd been conditioned to avoid those cracks, moving onto why they wouldn't pave the sidewalk the same way as the road: seamless. It occurred to me then that perfection was possible, but only for a very short time. Newly paved road would be cracked within months, cracks would be filled a shade too dark, nobody would complain but everyone would notice. It was wrong, but not so wrong that anyone would bother to offer any remedy. It shocked me how much this was a metaphor for my life. Cracked and filled, again and again, visible to the outside world that I, human as anyone else, was not perfect. Wrong, I was, and yet seldom had there been any complaint. My mind was reaching philosophical inquiries when I was jerked back by an imposing object - you, to be exact. Before even opening my eyes, once closed to brace myself, I knew exactly what was happening. This was a meeting of epic proportions, and nothing in my life would ever be the same. A ridiculous assumption, one might think, and unlikely as it seems, I wasn't totally wrong. Eyelids pushing back, unleashing windows to my insides, my pupils travelled upward to meet your own, encased in startling icy blue.

Such was the look, starting in soft serenity, graduating to simple surprise, somehow seeming endless. A stranger was all you were to me in that moment; yes, a stranger with a seamless complexion, so visibly perfect it hurt. I decided to discard my conclusions from a moment before - that no human was perfect. Your dilectably hued lips stretched upward along one edge, your long fingers outstretched, and not only outstretched, but toward me. The second most electric feeling in my life: when your hand touched my hand. The first being our very first encounter, or collision, if you will. The euphoria didn't end there, oh no, just as I thought I must have been about to die, you parted your lips, spoke aloud in a way that must have been secret. Just for me. "I'm sorry, Miss." was all you said. And it was enough - enough to encase my heart in glass, be branded with your name yet to be uttered, yet to be learned. Three words were enough to kill me, but they didn't. Three words were enough to make me live forever, but they didn't do that either. What they did in fact do, was swear my heart to you against my will, swear my body yours forever, my words for your ears only, my breath for breathing you in. My heart, yours for whatever use it could possibly have to you.