This weekend in 1988 I started seeing my soulmate. I was seventeen, he was sixteen and it was love at first sight. I adore him even more now than I ever did. We moved in together after two weeks, got engaged after six weeks and married the following year. We have had our troubles in the past, but those troubles have made us an unbreakable couple. I knew the minute I saw him that he was 'the one'. It know it sounds so cheesy, but it's true.
He was kneeling, the first time I ever saw him
repairing an old rusty lock of an even older door
in a building that could have been beautiful
had it not been so ugly.
Concrete grey walls, rotting windows and grubby floors
that turned white socks black. His face so out of place
along side such gloom and decaying decadence.
Slowly he glances up at me and I notice the green of his eyes
penetrating deep into the brownness of mine
searching for a slither of sensibility. I love him.
I'm sure I do. If only I could speak. I think I might be sick
right here in front of him. I scurry sideways
panicked and peculiar like a crazed crab
searching hysterically for a place to hide
the rubescense of my cheeks, so terrified by this ordinary meeting
with the boy who's name I do not know.