By lythande
Date: 8 June 2000
Longing
How do I begin to describe him? I would have to start with the incongruity of
salt-and-pepper hair with an incredibly youthful face. A sweet, sweet smile
like a little boy's, but behind that smile is a quick and sharp mind. He hides
his heart behind a shell of coarseness and swearing, but that heart is good
and true and he agonises sometimes over the decisions he has to make, but he
makes them anyway. He is quick to anger but quick to forget and when he makes
his judgements they are terrible indeed.
How many have fallen for his charms already? Many, I fear, but they only
want a night with him. I want more - in fact I do not care for the nights,
rather for the days of discovering the person that hides within. I want to see
his colours and talk for hours and hear the ideas flow forth in scintillating
showers. I want an imprint of his soul.
He will never notice me, not in the way that I want him to. I am but a loyal
and trusted aide, not to be thought of in anything but professional terms. It
was inevitable I suppose; long amounts of time spent together in serious
undertakings, through that I was allowed a glimpse of the beauty within.
I must describe his hands. They are gentle hands, a musician's hands, smooth
and expressive in every gesture. He uses them a lot. Those hands and eyes
are eloquent wordlessly. If a picture is worth a thousand words those hands
and eyes convey many myriad pictures.
Oddly enough I think that he would understand if he were to read this. I think
he would forgive me.
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