Low And Behold. Real Men Do Exist.

He rides in on his white mustang. He is the one you can hear yards away. You can hear the clanging of the steeds shoes as they trot proudly on the sidewalk. You can hear the females swoon. Which is followed shortly by the thump that echoes as they faint when he smiles upon them. He finds his satisfaction in the eyes of daughters. Their approval and lustful gazes are his motivation. Being faced with a challenge is merely a game, and openly accepted. It is an act that he has rehearsed and knows inside and out, backwards and forwards. He knows just how to win them over. How to stroke their arm during a friendly conversation, make just the right amount of eye contact and how to keep their stare upon him as he exits a room and glances over his shoulder only to match their pupils to his. Executed to perfection. Another success, another victim to his charm.
He walks the streets in his statement shoes. Quiet and artsy. Humble and searching. He brushes shoulders with the charmer and apologizes, hardly looking up from his shoes. Not because he is intimidated, rude, or complacent. He is just focused, kind, meek. His eyes are the ones she desires. While many are chasing this so called man on his horse, she can see that he is only a reproduction, a carbon copy of the stereotype that exists in this world. Nothing that would interest her. But this other, he is a man. The real kind. Built with humility, selflessness, rooted in love. His heart is locked into the all the things that have been forgotten. So many attributes have fallen by the waste side in this world, they have been trampled on, ignored, scrutinized, but he has uncovered them. The true man has discovered what exists amongst the forgotten, that which has been thrown to the dogs. With carefulness he has cleaned them, with diligence he has studied them and with perseverance he has practiced them. It runs within his veins and she is drawn into his uniqueness, his mystery. His shoes are worn and tired. It isn’t easy to be what so many are not. And as charmer falls off his high horse, the other one picks him up and shows him how to walk. So he leads by example. Placing one foot before the other. Determined, yet conscious. Never claiming to be perfect or pretending he has is all together. For he is as real as they come. For he is a man.

A Lover's Embrace.

The deepest pain cannot be described with words. The saddest of all tears cannot be explained in 100 letters. The strongest love cannot be expressed by a minimal conversation or a translucent cliche. For emotion is far too complex. And all of these are much bigger than that instinctive state of mind that we all arrive at due to circumstance, mood, or relationship. It would only seem foolish and destructive to sit here and attempt to do the impractical. But here I sit, and I’m not the first.
Their hearts lie beneath the roof of an empty cottage. In a world where she and him know only each other. Windows yawning, bird songs echo, and a door painted red. This is reality. Eyes speak words and hands grasp love. The boy and girl have it all. But the lover knows what lies ahead of them, he is cautious. And the beloved has taught herself how to dissemble the idea that there is anything bigger than the moment.
Their enemies shadow lurks around every corner of the cottage, planning its newest attack. It must be more effective than the last, for he seeks disaster and heart ache. Last time only failure, so he prays for success. Most call him time, but the two call him good-bye. He lingers among them, making sure his presence is not only known, but felt. Inside that red painted door two hearts are becoming one, knowing its only moments before time forces its good-bye. They hold each other closer, harder, hoping for a chance that time may freeze. Trying to ignore the exhaust that is straining their souls. Dreaming that tears won’t have to fall this time. Their hold is pure and raw, the way it was designed. A lover’s embrace is too intimate and perfect in its most vulnerable form. She and him have no words left to speak, they let their hearts communicate as they loose themselves in seas of green and brown.
The attack has begun and it seems to be successful. Windows seal, birds fall silent and that very red door flies open. Could it be the last time? Tears fall from both sets of eyes and breathing complicates itself. Heart break sets in. He is pulled from the cottage as his fingers bruise the floor. She’s trapped inside, to fragile to be breathed upon. But as their hearts are raged against and there bodies are left defeated, love strikes back. For nothing is as strong as this. They are yet to beat this fateful curse, but victory is not far from where they are.