“You know people will hate us for this?” our hero said. “They will be sick to their stomachs with envy because of how we are and will always be.”
Her poet thought for moment and with a subtle laugh he agreed while she floated back and forth across her kitchen.
“Misery, always, hates joy,” he said.
She smiled her crooked smile.
“Let them hate,” she said. “This, here, it is sacred.”
Just moments before he had stood on the threshold of her doorway. His hand debated between ringing her bell and knocking on her door. Two dogs were jumping inside and he was poised to ring her door bell but she opened it before he could conclude the act.
It was funny, truly, how her cool demeanor was utterly betrayed by the excitement flashing behind her eyes. These jumping and barking dogs were displaying just a small fraction of the eagerness rolling inside of her.
Oh those eyes!
They flashed with green fire and held shades of a soft, earthly, knowing hue. The colors dazzled and danced, beckoning him closer. Our poet knew many things but it was not until that moment that he knew the raw and soothing look of love.
This, here and now, was something bigger and more powerful than him and her.
The entire universe had conspired to create this moment. Ages of actions — big and small, beautiful and ugly — had woven and layered upon each other, guided by that great invisible hand, to mold and shape two separate people with twin souls. There was no denying that they were bound for each other.
And trying to stem this love flowing out of and into each other, the dreams of an entire world would smolder into ashes until the dust was blown by the wind and nothing remained.
“One is loved,” is the line from The Alchemist. “No reason is needed for loving.”
Nothing was ever more true.