Chapters 4&5

The thought of love was frequent for him, he argued over himself its existence, its power, and its involvement in his own life. He had loved, he thought, but perhaps his idea of love had been warped by the push and pull of time. He had been told that love did not exist out of first encounters, rather it must be built carefully, around a stable relationship. He had always questioned this, not aloud but to himself, in the protection of his own head. He questioned whether or not the love he felt for people was real, because it had been quickly assembled at first glances, conversations, or acts of kindness. He had love for many things, some inanimate, some he had never met or seen or spoken to. He didn’t believe that it mattered however, that he felt this love for people or things that he had never even seen in front of his eyes. He had love for people he had only seen or heard in the news, in newspapers, or on the radio. He loved, because it gave him hope. And he allowed himself to hope because it gave him life.

Many weeks ago, when he his travels had begun, he had met someone who also seemed to be trying to escape from their past, or trying to step into their future. It was a young woman, crying, parked on the side of a deserted highway. She was resting her body on the hood of her car, tears dripping onto its faded paint, staring questioningly at the setting sun. As he walked towards the back of the car, he stopped walking for a moment. She had not heard or seen him yet, and as far as he could see, there was nothing. The road they were on stretched wearily until it disappeared into the mountains that were slowly swallowing the sun. He stared at her for some time, almost mesmerized by the beauty of this image, this woman, who was surely looking for something better, and had surely found it at the precise moment he stumbled upon her. She was captivated by the sun, and he became captivated by her. As he approached her he awkwardly shuffled his feet as to announce his presence to her. She was not alarmed however, as many would be, but slowly turned her head to look at him. She had soft brown hair, but it looked as if many hands had been run through it, leaving the past of a woman that would be hard to break into. Her blue eyes were turned red from her tears, and the combination brought out a purple light in them, enough to hold his gaze for longer than he planned to. When she spoke, he listened to her carefully, because he wanted to know everything she had to say, he wanted to understand her, and he wanted her to know that he would give her everything he had, if only she would have the need for him. She told him her story, where she had come from, where she was going. They sat in the road, backs against her faded car, late into the night. Not a single car passed them, and he liked the feeling of being alone with her. No one knew where they were, no one knew they were together, except for the two of them. They talked and laughed, as if they had been friends their entire lives, and in the morning she quietly got into her car and drove away, not the way she was going, but the way that she had came. He left her too, but continued to travel the way he was going when he found her. It was if nothing had happened, except he knew that he loved her.