© 2003 Jaimie L. Robertson, All Rights Reserved.
He stands at the top of the hill looking down upon the valley as the brilliant rays of dawn creep slowly over the land. He is beautiful.
There is a singular light that he possesses. One that, in moments such as this, leaves me breathless when I look upon him. It is that light that I live by.
To his light, I am shadow. Were he to hear me say such aloud, his brow would furrow, he would suck his bottom lip between his teeth and look upon me with disapproval. In one of his more excitable moods, he might simply thwack me on the head.
He does not see me as I see myself. When he looks upon my haunted face, he does so through that ethereal light. And in that light, all the dark places of my soul do not seem near as deep or wide as I know them to be.
He turns to look at me, a soft smile upon his lips. “Is it not beautiful?” he asks me.
“It is most beautiful,” I say, though my eyes have never left his face.
When he realizes I am not referring to the splendor of the new day, his smile widens. His smile is unlike any other. I will go to great lengths to bring it to his face. I can count the times in my life when I have been truly happy by recalling the times he has graced me with this beaming countenance.
“The valley, you idiot,” he says with mock reproach.
“I care not about the valley. I have seen it a thousand times.”
“You’ve seen me more times than that.”
“It is never enough,” I say.
He steps toward me and lifts a hand to my hair. He is often disconcerted, though pleased, by my adulation. When he is disconcerted, he fidgets. This is something I enjoy almost as much as his smile. His fingers comb through my hair. When they reach the ends, he twirls a lock around his index finger.
“You’re blushing,” I say. And though he was not truly blushing before, he is now.
“Hush, or I’ll toss you in the river.”
“Kiss me instead,” I say.