Story (Untitled)
They both reached for it at the same time, and as their hands met, time stood still. He looked up at her, her dark hazel eyes, the orbs he held most dear in his heart. But she was getting worn with time. No matter how long she had lived her eyes still held a power over him. He fumbled with his words, and then pulled his hand away. She picked up the kettle and smiled. No words came out of her lips as she poured the tea into his cup. The aroma wafted up into his nostrils, a sweet scent. He had smelled nothing similar to it before, and guessed that his lips may never have tasted it either.
They sat there for a long time. Looking between themselves. There was nothing else in the world anymore, to him. The dearest young girl he had ever loved sat across from him at the table. He tried to remember what color her hair had been. Lost in the sands, like the rest of their lives, he had forgotten. But even without the color of her hair, without the deep resonance of her voice, long lost, he loved her like no other before. When she had been born, he imagined, her parents breathed in a deep sigh of awe and amazement at looking at a beauty such as hers. Even as a child, not a tear was shed, the quietest baby that ever lived.
And with that thought, she was gone. He looked down at his tea. His biscuit. A bare old man. His time had come very soon, and he could hardly wait to be with her again.
He picked up the cup and drank. And the next moment, he was with her, in a green grassy meadow, with the sun shining. And he remembered then, her hair, it had been the reddest hair he had ever seen. And he was happy once again.