"I love you. With all my heart. To the end of the ocean and back."
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FEATURED BY @StoriesUndiscovered
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Missy is a promising student of art, drawing wherever she goes. She is just as talented as quiet and she seems too indifferent to care...
The girl looked so vulnerable in front of me. The walls she once had were crumbling and at that moment with that grieving girl, in that church... was a demon which not even the Lord could cleanse her off. Pain. I saw pain before I saw love. And when I saw it... I recognised it. Pain has a memorable face.
Uncontrollable shivers, head bowing in defeat, hair carelessly sliding down her shoulders into her face. As the mass went on, the more I watched her, the more her body shook.
She was crying.
Mr and Mrs Johnson were praying, bibles in their wrinkly hands, rosary in the other. Mom was sleeping. Dad was looking at the pastor. Mayor's son was drooling and the church was calm. At peace... but for this girl.
A soft thud of my shoes didn't seem to disrupt the holy atmosphere. Everyone was too engrossed to see a seven-year-old sneak around the pew.
I sat next to her. She said nothing. I didn't look at her. She did. I put my hand on my knee, palm up. She noticed. I knew she noticed. Father Jacob moved his glasses further up his nose.
At first, it was a tickle. A fingertip in the middle of my palm. A surprising, cold touch. Then... fingertips tracing the lines of my palm to my fingers. Her cold hand in mine. Unsure. But deprived. She held my hand. I squeezed hers.
I promise you will get used to the pain, I thought.
At the end of the mass, her hand was warm and her grip, strong. I only let go when I knew her cheeks were dry and her heart a bit less lonely. And as I did, I walked away without giving her the slightest glance. I didn't mean to be cold.
I simply didn't want to fall in love at first sight.
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I knew she wanted to turn around. Every time I saw the tip of her nose, the curve of her lashes, I turned away. But she never did look back.
Father Jacob was giving a sermon with his dolce voice. Mayor's son was listening. Father Jacob lifted his hands to the ceiling, calling out to heaven. My father was watching. And then Father said:
...in the darkest of wolds, when our throats hurt and our eyes sting, let it be known there is the fire of heavens in our hearts. We were given souls not to give them up for the Devil's virtues... but for caring and cherishing them. Do not forget souls are a gift from God. And when we are lost... God will help us see the path.
And when the echo disappeared in the cold air of stones and Sunday clothes, we lowered to our knees and prayed. But the girl in the pew before me didn't.
I heard her. Sighing in her head. Grieving her lost faith.
Her sighs filled her head yet so loudly, that she didn't notice my shadow until I grasped her hand. The cold skin of her very being and soul. But she gripped my hand as well. I went home with bruises on my hand.
They caused me no pain.
The following Sunday... I was already waiting for her. She sat next to me, a bit closer than before and held my hand. As she accepted my comfort, I wondered if a hand of a strange girl gave her a fraction of the peace she needed. I doubted it. And it worried me. But I did not know what else to do. As she bruised my hand...
I kept her hand warm.
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