Her

Her. I watch in awe as she flows into the room, her golden hair almost glowing in the sunset. My gaze is drawn from her hair to her eyes, verdant ememeralds that seem filled at once with both laughter and pain. I always want to talk to her; I've practiced what I'd say in front of a mirror for days on end, but when she glides into view, almost floating above the ground like something celestial, it's as if my tongue, like the rest of me, is so reverently still, that to move or speak, to even blink, would forever break the spell of the moment.

But tonight something seems different. Her eyes, usually brimming with a joy that borders on angelic, are filled with a sadness I hoped I'd never see again. They're glassed over in a thousan-yard stare, and I can see the way she covers her arms. Something seems so wrong that my awe is cast aside, and I rush to her side. I ask her, and she tells me that it's nothing. I push it, not taking the brush-off, and she lifts her sleeve to show the thin red lines where the razor had traveled. Her boyfriend had been cheating on her, and had finally decided to choose his mistress over her. I hold her close, feeling her heart fluttering against mine, and I tell her it'll be alright, tell her that she'll always have me.

She looks into my eyes and sees the sincerity in them, and the love, true and not subject to the laws of mutability. She smiles, and the happiness starts to return to her eyes. In a moment that seems like it would last for eternity, our lips met.

Her. I love her, and she loves me.