On that night when fate brought us together for a second time, he sat down next to me at an empty bar in a restaurant in our hometown. I had gone there hoping to run into him again, but he didn't know that. Remember me?, he said, taking the stool next to me. In that moment, I fell in love with the candle behind his eyes when he smiled -- the wrinkles that gathered in threes and fours from too many other happy times and maybe too long nights and days on the cutter without sunscreen. But I loved those eyes. For days after we had met and weeks when we were separated -- and these weeks that we have been apart -- I lived and still live to see them again.
He was most handsome in the bath. The way his hair wisped and curled... with my hands, I'd pull the skin away from his face, from my favorite crinkles at the corners of his eyes. I'd run my fingertip over the scar above his lip and the ones along his jaw. Then watch his eyes illuminate the most complex shade of hazel green. Oh, there you are, I'd say, there's the man I love.
Because when I peered through, I saw our children looking back at me with curious thought and love unconditional.
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