in the beginning
it started with a picture. a pixelated image. my heart flew out of my chest. my breathing stopped. my brain tried to put on the breaks. but my fingers were tapping out: “i think you’re beautiful.”
for weeks i’d been captivated by her wit. i was drunk on her words, her jokes, her stories, her library, her every move. but it was that picture that finished me.
the way her sun-kissed hair fell across her brow. the way her head rested against her hand. the way a smirk played across her face. the way confidence shone out of her emerald eyes.
she. was. beautiful. she. is. beautiful.
within weeks, i was entrenched. she was my world. the very blood that coursed through my steely viens. she was my familiar. my world, my husband, my job, my schedule, those things were strangers to me now. she was the start and the end of my days. the measure of my life.
it all started with a photo. a pixelated image of the most beautiful face i’ve ever held.
