She would only allow him a fleeting glance of herself—just a wisp of skin and a whiff of her shampoo and a whisper of promise saying maybe next time, babe. Never had he seen her long enough to grasp permanency. Her facial features were vague at best and her hair and body type were the only identifiers he could place.
And yet, he was completely and hopelessly in love with her.
Until two weeks ago, he perfectly recalled, he got close enough to touch her hair. As she ran towards the looming hospital, he called out her name–Gabrielle! She paid him no attention, as always. However, as one not easily deterred, he stretched his arm out to…do something, anything, really, and his fingers felt the velvet textures of the ends of her hair.
She has really thick hair, he thought. And it’s wonderfully soft. And she’s wonderfully beautiful. And I’m more wonderfully in love with her.
That was the first time he felt a physical jolt of surprise, its electricity racing out to all nerves and sending insanely repetitive messages to each other—I touched her I touched her I touched her I touched her I—as if competing as to who keeps her memory.
But that wasn’t the last time he felt it.
Just a few days ago as he was leaving his quarters to rest before his next shift, she strolled past him again. She was as beautiful as ever, striding with an air of—not confidence, he realized lately—complacency, as if everything was under her power and the world was controlled by her strings.
One of her strings fell to the pavement; an elegant Parker fountain pen lying on the ground, one she used to manipulate the world’s movements—or at least, her world’s movements. And maybe his. (He’s read what she’s written and it’s safe to say she controls him, too. Unknowingly.) He hastily picked it up and called out her name with an over-practiced roll of the tongue—Gabrielle! She paid him no attention.
He tried again—Gabrielle! You dropped your pen. And in that moment, he swore that he could die right there as her feet stopped abruptly and her body swiveled to his and her eyes, oh, her majestic eyes, met his for the first time.
Green and blue. Her eyes are green and blue. He was amazed, flipping those simple words around his head, over and over again, and finding that its unique combination made him love her more. She walked over to him slowly, tentatively, as if feeling for the cracks in the pavement that might have tripped her, tricked her, into diving headfirst into a trap. But he was no trap; she was.
Then there she stood, head not even reaching his shoulders, only inches between them charged with all things anxious yet all things hopeful. He looked at her, really looked at her, finding big eyes and a cute nose and full lips, yet realizing that none of it would have mattered because he loved her.
And she snapped him out of his trance and warmed his toes and touched his soul and made him infinitely more than just happy with the most heartfelt words:
Thank you.
just a footnote 