This couple walked past me on the beach this morning. Now, understand that because I’m a writer, I make up a backstory for pretty much every interesting stranger I see, ever. It’s a sickness, really. But these two were different. They were walking along the shoreline, and stopped right in front of me to pick shells out of the sand. I studied them. And in the short minute they paused there, there was no need to make up a story for them; they told me a story with their actions. I had them figured out. New love. I could tell right away. You can’t mistake it for anything else. He would pick through the shells, and then hand one to her, almost sheepishly. She would take it, examine it, and smile. Each shell he presented to her was just a token. A small gesture of something larger that he did not know how to articulate. But each shell she took from him was more than that. To her, It was a piece of his heart. Something he found, saw beauty in, and gave away willingly. When the shell game was over, they smiled at each other. His gaze stayed on her for a long while, as if he was afraid she would run away at any moment. Her eyes broke away, and she looked down at her feet, seemingly unsure of herself, or why this boy loved her so. They fumbled for each other’s hands, lacking the familiarity that comes with time. I hope they are good for each other. I really do.

This couple walked past me on the beach this morning. Now, understand that because I’m a writer, I make up a backstory for pretty much every interesting stranger I see, ever. It’s a sickness, really.

But these two were different. They were walking along the shoreline, and stopped right in front of me to pick shells out of the sand. I studied them. And in the short minute they paused there, there was no need to make up a story for them; they told me a story with their actions. I had them figured out.

New love. I could tell right away. You can’t mistake it for anything else.

He would pick through the shells, and then hand one to her, almost sheepishly.

She would take it, examine it, and smile.

Each shell he presented to her was just a token. A small gesture of something larger that he did not know how to articulate.

But each shell she took from him was more than that. To her, It was a piece of his heart. Something he found, saw beauty in, and gave away willingly.

When the shell game was over, they smiled at each other. His gaze stayed on her for a long while, as if he was afraid she would run away at any moment. Her eyes broke away, and she looked down at her feet, seemingly unsure of herself, or why this boy loved her so.

They fumbled for each other’s hands, lacking the familiarity that comes with time.

I hope they are good for each other. I really do.

posted 3/30/09 at 5:07pm to Uncategorized · 0 replies · »

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