He was a gentle man of twenty-four. One who always carried a book or two. Not for an air of vanity, but rather a safe-haven for loneliness and fodder for creativity. Endless visions from eyes which often peered out of the library„ a place which felt more like home than anyplace he’s ever laid his head. Cautious and courteous was he, but also eccentric & egotistic. A man plagued by duality. Others would speak, but he could never quite listen completely as flowing streams of verse swam down the river of his mind. He did not understand why they came, but he took them as a sign from God, a bestowing of laurel leaf placed on to the crown of his head. He felt blessed for certain, but not in a over exaggerated way, such as spoken by countless Christians in Sunday morning prayer lines, but an earnest feeling of blessing, one which he tried so vehemently to express on the blank page of life. Francis had a distaste for the blank page. He believed that the page should be dressed in black, not naked. Every morning,afternoon, and night he went to war with his opposition, and to him his only opposition was the blank page, and sometimes he won, and sometimes his foe would win, but he always went to battle. His eyes became curious, and inquisitive like those of a child. There was a certain power the keyboard granted him. Limitless creation. He felt as a writer he was the closest to understanding how God must feel. Like God, a writer creates characters filling them with life and purpose, and just like God, the writer knows the story well before his characters will. Because to him being a writer is the only thing to do, the only thing of importance.
His woman…lady, angel, butterfly walks in grace. She possessed a sense of lost beauty which glowed around her like halo, a portrait of broken elegance like a bloody rose in the snow. Her sunken eyes are filled with the lust for salvation, looking for the key to unlock the elegies of her heart. Her broken wings flutter often, while tears, saturated symbols of pain, stain the carpet. Her tears fall as graceful as she, watering each pedal of loneliness as they crash against her brown skin but now determination exceeds fallen whimpers, whimpers which were given life by lonely nights, the radiant moon, and the one that glares back at you through the window of life and seems to cry along with you. These nights silently roared through her existence and left her with two knees bent to God and he listened and she listened. The fire of the spirit emblazoned her consciousness and seemed to penetrate her psyche and with a silent whisper spoke and said: “My child I am and will always be the light” so she nodded, agreed, wiped off the pillow case and looked back at the weeping moon and told him: “Don’t weep for me for I’m finally free and one step closer to revealing my light for the world to see”.
The next morning they decided to walk to their favorite bookstore. They walked through the dense city pavement. The smell of morning still lingered in their noses as we entered into the bookstore. This particular bookstore, with its robust smell of coffee and dry ink, had become a place of solace from the world outside. He sipped his coffee and watched as she poured countless teaspoons of sugar into her tea.
“Would you like some tea with your sugar,” he joked. She began to stir the mountain of sugar into her cup. With each stir the aroma of Earl Grey filled the air. His mind slowly got up and walked away from the table.
“What’s on your mind babe”? She said.
He uttered softly, “Life I suppose.”
“Francis, you’re 24 what do you know of life”? She laughed
He pondered her question while he watched the streaks of morning rain trickle down the window.
“Life” He proclaimed. “Life is merely a space. A space between smiles in the delivery room; and teardrops on tombstones.” She shook her head with a faint smile. He took a sip of his coffee, still too hot to enjoy.
“And love?” she said inquiringly, “What do you know of that?”
He replied. “Love; well that’s an intriguing word. A word I’ve heard before, but never felt. I do know that it is easy to fall in love, but a challenge to stand in it.”
She reached her hand over to his and smiled. A smile which felt like the word love.