Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
The Broken Wings of a Little Blackbird
I have always had trouble making complete sentences when I'm nervous. That is why I have never gone on a date, much less a blind date. I'm too nervous to sit down face to face, alone, with a prospective lover. All my boyfriends were made by accident or by way of friendship. When I hear that one of my friends is going on a date, I get anxious for them. Here I am, thinking about the blind date I'm about to go on. I think about all the times I embarrassed myself because I was so nervous and couldn't be myself. Oh, it is so painful to reflect on those memories. It only heightens my anxiousness.
‘It’s our first date at Main Street Park, and he brought a fancy bottle of merlot. I should be ecstatic, but he doesn’t look half as good in person. It’s one thing that he’s twice my age; it’s a whole other thing that it shows. At least his beard and sunglasses are nice. Most importantly, he’s not from around here. …You’ll put up with anything for an unfamiliar face, Kyle. You—'
Wrong Person, Wrong Time
When you experience real love for the first time, you realise how nothing else before it even came close. It feels like the entire world stops spinning and the only thing that matters, is them. Every moment you spend together is bliss, and every parting is sorrow. I have experienced it once before, and although I like to believe that we can have more than one true love in this life, I am still yet to find another. Once you experience real love, you can’t settle for anything less.
Fictional First Date
Even the most experienced house remodeler can be surprised by what the world has to provide it. Tearing apart the 1990s version of a kitchen was more work than she expected. The cabinets were screwed directly into the studs and the electrical was placed in locations that didn't make any sense for the modern kitchen. So instead of just replacing the cabinets, Alex demolished to the studs.
The Heart Note
The soft points of the honeybee’s six legs shifting on Kray’s naked shoulder tickled more than she expected. She knew them to be innocuous, as everyone did, and the thought of being stung shouldn’t have crossed her mind, but Kray couldn’t keep her muscles from tensing when it landed on her, though she didn’t try to remove it. Kray worked quickly among the branches of her orange tree, a tree she spent the last year painstakingly covering, fertilizing, and pruning to survive the New York winter. She was competing with the honeybees, floating from bloom to bloom in the low morning sunlight of early April, for the tree's few orange blossoms. Kray had an encompassing view of her backyard. A mass of Jasmine flowers, white as moonlight, wrapped down the iron trellis which rested against the back of her house, greeting the orderly rows of mint beneath with their heady fragrance. The yard was awash with every aromatic flower to be grown in New York’s temperate climate, meticulously planted in a grid, one foot between each. The sourness of fresh mulch and soil, almost fecal, mixed on a breeze with the flowers’ cloying sweetness, was carried to adjacent yards. Kray considered the smell a gift to her neighbors; they did not. This variety of high maintenance foliage was not merely a point of vanity, it supplied Kray with a bank of scents to utilize for creating perfumes, her trade of ten years. Kray reached for another blossom, pinching it at the base then plucking and laying it in a basket with the others before descending the eight wooden rungs resting against the trunk of the orange tree. Kray thought of her father, buried next to her mother behind a quaint Presbyterian church in the blue ridge mountains of Virginia, and the trees she helped him prune on their farm by stabilizing the base of his extendable aluminum ladder. Her left foot was the first to touch the ground. Before the right could catch up, a car horn from beyond the fence surrounding her backyard threw her off balance. She stumbled backward as two flowers fell from her basket into the dewed grass.
Don’t wait for me
I take one final glance in the mirror; long wavy hair half pinned back with soft strands line my face. Onyx eyeliner borders tightly along my lashes, highlighting my russet cat eyes. And a muted rosewood rouge on my lips gives them a youthful roundness. I look — pretty, exotic even. And the thought of canceling tugs on my instincts, but I brush it away as nerves getting the best of me. The excessive questioning of every decision, from which dress I should wear —or should I go with the pantsuit? To conversation starters and which topics to avoid — ex spouses — has my stomach in knots.
To New Friendships...
As he sat in the slightly wobbly chair, he found himself wringing his hands and rubbing them on his gray pants. The moisture on his hands matches the perspiration slowly beading upon his forehead. He didn't understand why he was so nervous. Maybe it wasn't nervousness, was it excitement? It had been a long while since he did an escapade such as this. He thought he was past that sort of longing and desire. He was fifty and comfortable in his life. He chuckled and grab a rock glass of Bourbon and gulp it down. Holding the bottle, it slid out of his hands and slammed back onto the faux wood table that had nicks and scratches along its top.
Coming Full Circle
I pulled up in the parking lot of the steakhouse, parking at the far end of the parking lot. I had arrived for my date far too early, pretty strange for me since I’m usually on time or slightly late any other time. It was 6:45, and we were to meet at 7. I knew it had to be dating jitters. Not just because it was a first date with a new guy, but my first date in over a year.
The Last First Date
2 years. That's how long it has been since I have been on a date. Let alone a blind date, where I have no clue what this man even looks like.
Merlot Man Sitting down in this quaint little restaurant that I had never been, I sat anxiously waiting for my date’s arrival. First dates always are a little nerve-wracking, but especially more for someone with an overactive mind. His profile read: Actively in the gym, loves walks in nature, and a good glass of Merlot to end my nights while reading and learning something new… and LOVES ANIMALS. Well, I am too (trying) to be active in the gym, I too love nature walks when the sun is shining, and I love my cats. Thinking to myself a wine guy sounds pretty good, I am used to the hard type… Whiskey on the rocks please or I’ll just get a beer, when they order this I tend to launch myself into the future of domestics or a beer belies, but then again that is just off of my experiences in the world of alcohol and men. A Merlot man I like the sound of that! So I presumably order us both a glass of their finest Merlot, I figure go big or go home this could be the one finally!
From Chime to Chime
The little town’s church bell chimed, much like it used to every evening at 6:00. A day that started miserable had turned beautiful. The early morning rain and clouds had moved on leaving a sunny evening with a crisp breeze. We walked slowly down the street, not sure whether to hold hands. The wind pushed her fragrance toward me, the sweet smell still etched in my brain all these years later. Leaves spiraled down from the trees and across the asphalt road we were walking on. What does one talk about on a first date? I don’t remember what we spoke of on the walk, but her smile, the smell of perfume, and the spectrum of fall colors blend into a beautiful picture in my mind.
Natural forces were redolent of sweet cherries
Bird songs swiftly swallow up the impressionable void within, enabling me to walk and breathe amongst the nature I love so. I feel at one with myself, free of judgement, demands and responsibilities. Free-flowing through a range of smell sounds and the occasional face. Preference being more towards wildlife; however, I will not shy away from hello and a smile. I often diverted from the trodden path full of curiosity and intrigue. Inner feelings would guide my journey; we all get that ‘feeling’ we shouldn’t or should be somewhere.