I sipped on ginger ale as I settled down at The Avenue, my favorite underground bar, to scope out a good candidate to write about. I found them in a cozy, dimly lit corner towards the back. He rested his lacquered cane against the table and pulled the chair out for his wife. “Excuse me, sir and madam. I was wondering if I could have a quick word. I’m a writer you see and I write about people. I don’t write nonfiction pieces and I don’t use names. I just use people’s experiences. Would you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
The woman’s eyes lit up. “A writer. She sounds like you, Lloyd. Except she admits that her work is fiction.”
“You wound my heart, Penelope.” Lloyd winked and nodded to me. “Fire away, Miss. We have all the time in the world.”
I flipped open my grey notebook. “What did you think when you first met each other?”
Penelope’s eyes glossed over and a pleasant smile crossed her face. “He’s gossipy. I thought he was simply terrible when I first met him. All full of energy and jumping around like a frog.”
Lloyd chuckled. “I didn’t see her at first. I was too busy snapping photos of the fire. But when I did see her, I was so taken that I forgot my own name. She was stiff and proper looking, but her eyes were full of wonder. Her beautiful pale green eyes that showed me places I’d never been.”
I jotted a few notes down. “And what kinds of dates did you go on?”
“He took me on more adventures than I could count. One day he said that he wanted to travel the world with me, and I said that I’m more comfortable in my world of books. But he insisted that he wake up beside me every morning, that my eyes took him places unobtainable and so I showed him my writings. I’m a fiction writer like yourself.
“He read my work deep into the night and then woke me and asked me to marry him because, he said, that he had traveled everywhere in my writings and that the only place worth being would be wherever I am.” Penelope gazed over at Lloyd with eyes so full of tears of joy that I buried my nose in my notebook to pretend that I hadn’t noticed.
Lloyd cleared his throat, rested his wrinkled hand on Penelope’s, and turned to me. “She holds the world inside her head, and I am grateful that she shares it with me. We are kind of the same, me and her. We’re both explorers who go on adventures everyday even just on our way to the kitchen.”
“Our souls are made of the same stuff. It’s a miracle that we found each other.” Penelope whispered brushing tears from her eyes.
Lloyd patted Penelope’s hand and smiled at her with watery eyes of his own. “No, we would’ve found each other anyway because you and I would have conquered the world and traced the globe to find each other. That’s just how it is for the yearning hearts of dreamers.” Watching them communicate with just their eyes struck me and I closed my notebook. I couldn’t write this story. I didn’t know how to go about recreating a love like theirs. Sometimes life is too perfect for words. I tried to pin down stories like theirs, but something was always missing. Some things can’t be immortalized in writing and they don’t need to be because a star that burns so brightly in life will not be forgotten after darkness extinguishes the light.

Fiction, Uncategorized

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