Then

No one has ever looked at me the way he did that night. Years later I’ve tried re-create to that same intensity, but no one has come close. I say things late at night over glasses of wine or quote obscure pieces of literature, hoping to somehow duplicate that look the first time our eyes met. I used to blame it on the bar; the way the light ricocheted off the wooden floors. Maybe it was his eyes, or the way his hair framed his face. Finally I realized it was his neck, his beautiful neck, the way it bent in a perfect angle toward me.

Read Full Post »