A Summer's Day

The bright blue, cloudless sky gazing down upon the green of the grass and the birds in the trees. A gentle breeze grazes my bare knees and blows my hair out of my face. I look up from my book at just the right moment. Golden hair lit ablaze by the sunlight streaming down upon us and deep violet eyes. Starring into them I’m hypnotized by his presence and fully aware of his every movement. The way his head tilts when he’s concentrating, and the way his lips move when he sings, and with every strum of the guitar, a faint whisper of his cologne is wafted my direction. His gaze for me? His scent for me? His song for me? It’s only a dream. Must be, for anything too good to be true is. My book is light and full of fluff. It’s content full of teenage laughter and tears. “The story of my life” I tell myself. The blanket is soft and welcoming as the sun makes it’s decent behind the trees until a shadow is all that’s left of my page. Without the book to keep me company I’m forced to once again look into those eyes. I try to not turn into stone but instead melt. The song is over and there’s no more light to play by. Despite my urge to clap or say something, my mind just isn’t working. I begin gathering all these thoughts of what it would be like to touch that hair, and feel those lips, and never once looking away from those eyes. Times like these are riddled with awkward silences. The one sound in the world I can’t handle. So I clear my throat, fuss with my hair, look this way and that in an attempt to free myself from the spell he’s casting. But it’s no use. Not a sound out of him, not even a hint of a smile creases his lips. But still he holds me in that stare. I know he can read my mind, he knows my every thought and desire. He can even feel my heart pounding from where he’s sitting. But then I imagine the entire park can at least hear it as well. There’s no use trying to stop it, no cure, no hope, no prayer. Only time will lift the curse and again I’ll be cut loose. Back into reality where “prince charming” only exists in fairy tales. Without an ounce of sunlight his eyes don’t shine as bright and I’m able to look away. His hair no longer quite as golden, and his lips, unmoving, are not much to be desired. I feel drained and weak, pulled from my day to day routine and plunged into an icy river where I can be cracked and broken again. I make a vow to never be that vulnerable again to fall under anyone’s spell, and with whatever strength I have left I stand and walk away.