By: Vivian Qi
Her hair is a multitude of colors. With a tilt of a head, or a blink of an eye, the shades shimmer and change with a quickness that isn’t expected. The rich, deep reds. The brilliant, strong oranges. And the bright, vivid yellows. It’s hard not to gape in amazement as she begins to head towards you, transforming at every glance and breath.
She wears knitted, oversized sweaters– the kind that wrap you in a loving, pleasant hug. She wears scarves of all kinds. The long ones, the tassel ones, the hand-knitted ones. A warm, affable piece of fabric that elongates the feeling and meaning of someone wrapping it around you. Sometimes she’ll wear a hat. Some boots. A sweater vest. Either way, it exudes warmth, comfort, and the kind of mellow amiableness like the scent of a candle floating in the air.
She is a long walk in nature, a good book with a cup of steaming coffee or hot chocolate. Cinnamon, apples, coffee, and pumpkins. The warmest shades of color, contradicting the crisp, chilly winds that tease and toss her hair around. And her cloudy, gray eyes, filled to the brim with a cool calmness, submerging any other feelings but love and all other actions but a smile.
The tranquility in her voice, the smile always playing on her lips. Early nights, barren trees, fallen leaves. The ballads of the birds, the clacking of the acorns, and the whistling wind.
I love her. I want to clasp my hands around hers and twirl her around and around, watching her eyes glitter and her hair spin. Pursed lips, then a smile, teeth peeking through brightly. I want to embrace her. To smell the sweet, tangy scent when I nestle my face into her shoulder.
But she doesn’t stay long. The reds and oranges, the apples, the coffee, her cloudy gray eyes. Her hands will eventually slip out of mine before I can even notice it. The sudden lack of warmth will be replaced by the coldness of longing. I would then only fold my hands into my own, withdrawing into my own comfort.
I know other people will come. People I still like, will enjoy spending time with. But nothing can replace her eyes, her scent, her hair, and her smile.
So this time, when she comes around the corner, I will grab her hands and hold on tightly. I will spin her around and watch her hair shimmer. I will gaze into her eyes, trying to hold onto that feeling for as long as possible. I will listen to the songs of birds all around us. I will submerge myself in the lovely scent of her: a warm dinner with family, spices, an old book with a cup of coffee, the ending of a rainstorm whilst in a forest.
Can we dance again and again until you leave? Just you and I, hands interlocked. Twirling, jumping, and laughing together until the sun sets.