Yes

She closed her eyes.

She imagined how it would feel, whether their fingers would interlock or cup one another, the first time he held her hand.

She imagined what she would see the first time she looked into his eyes. Their color, their brightness, that smile, their warmth, the gaze that would hold her there forever and never let her go, the gaze that would assure her that she was the only one he saw, the only one he noticed, the only one he wanted to dance with...the gaze that would banish the world and everything in it to the periphery...the gaze that she wouldn't be afraid to meet but afraid of falling for.  Would he notice - would he appreciate, would he fall in love with - that something in her eyes, too?

She imagined the first time their paths crossed, the first time the curtains fell and they came face-to-face.  Had he always been there?  Would he be somebody new?  Had he seen her for the first time and known?  Would she see him the first time and know?  Was it through the cracks between books on a bookshelf in the local library?  Was it through a mutual friend?  Did they almost run into each other when they turned the corner?  Would he care to see her again?  Would he fight to see her again?  Did he see her at the grocery store in her pajamas on her worst hair day and somehow still know - know that it was her, know that she was a princess, know that she was beautiful, know that she was worth it?

She imagined how it would be to walk through the hurried streets of urban cool and metro chill, layers and labels and gray all around her, only to have his arms wrap around her while she burst into laughter because he refused to believe her insistent "I'm warm, really!"

She imagined how he might ask her.  It wouldn't be, "Will you marry me?"  It would be, "Will you be my wife?"  She imagined the time of day, where they would be, whether the world would hush and wait in expectation, what song her heart would sing.

When she opened her eyes, she saw everything she had ever imagined, everything she had never dared hope for but always believed in, everything she had prayed for but nothing she had ever expected, completed in this man who had changed the color of her world when he told her, with one single question, that even though the world and everything in it was somewhere below and somewhere around the corner, today - today and for every day and eternity after - he wanted her to be his and he to be hers.  And that was all that mattered to him.

She stopped imagining.

"Yes."   "Yes."  "YES!"

And then came those arms that refused to let her go.

Home Again

She knocked on the door.  She knocked softly so that she could leave and tell everybody, "I did try, but he didn't answer."

Silence.  "See, I tried. I knew he wouldn't answer."

She began to make her way to the car.  But someone wasn’t going to let her walk away.
He stood a few feet away, his back against her car.  He had been there all along, waiting.  In his arms, he hugged the same bouquet of flowers that had won her heart so long ago.  He looked directly at her, but his gaze didn’t hurt. 

And suddenly she knew that everything - everything - was going to be all right.  More than all right.

He met her halfway and swept her into his arms.  He hadn't forgotten how gorgeous she smelled, how perfectly she fit in his embrace.  He couldn't.

"I'm home again. I'm home." 

“I’m home!”

She wanted to shout.  She wanted to dance.  She wanted to question.  She wanted to run.  She wanted to know.

She closed her eyes and the only thing she knew, the only thing that mattered, was that he had answered.

Window to My Seul

"Oh my God, how are you?  You look so good!"

"Look at you, girl!  You look hot!"

"Is this your place?  Oh my goodness, it's gorgeous!  How much do you pay a month?"

"Happy birthday, girl!  How old are you again?"

"Did you lose weight?  You look like you've lost weight."

"Oh my goodness, I have to introduce you to this guy.  I totally thought of you when I met him.  You'll love him."

"What have you been up to lately?"

"Of course I made it!  Are you kidding?  I wouldn't miss this for anything!"

"Thanks for setting this up.  It's so great to see everybody again!"

The drinks made their rounds; the food came soon after.  Glasses clink'ed and clanked.

Conversation buzzing, humming, peaking.  Music, steady and faithful in the background.  The laughter came easily.

Suddenly she stood up, champagne in hand.  Smiles, nods.  The buzzing continued.  The music didn't miss its cue.

But, by the window, overlooking the city lights and the silent, lazy vehicles, someone began to cry. 

She lifted the glass to her lips.

"Breathe.  Just breathe."

Je ne sais pas pourquoi

On her way out, she instinctively turned to the left and took a quick glance in the mirror. 
She stopped.  She didn't mean to.

It wasn't the hair.  "I just curled it, too.  Why does that section never,...Damn."  It wasn't the make-up.  "Is my eye makeup uneven?  Is this lipstick the right color on me?  Mom says,..."  It wasn't the skin.  "It'll be dark anyway.  Whatever."  It wasn't the outfit.  "Did I gain weight?  Oh God, does it show?  Should I change?  Oh, screw it, I'm late already!"  All these thoughts tumbled too quickly through her to stir her notice or care.
 
She had begun to turn the corner of the hallway, her heels and jacket in hand and arm, quickly stuffing lipstick, cell phone and keys in her purse, when the thought made its way through the crowds of questions.

"Why do you even bother?"

She stopped.  Her purse wouldn’t close.  Turning around, she looked in the mirror again, stepping closer.  She turned the light on.

It was supposed to be a quick glance.