This Is The Moment That You Know...

He loved her. That much was clear, wasn't it? He could recite her "favorites" as if they were his own. Her favorite color was red, although she never wore it, she felt she was it. Her favorite flower was lavender, and she hoped to carry a bouquet of it at her wedding. Their wedding. Her favorite ice cream was orange pineapple but only in summer; come winter, she loved peppermint stick. The same as himself.
He could compare them, back and forth, swearing that if they weren't meant to be together, then they were family, they had so many similarities. He spoke sweetly of her, saying that the first time he saw her, he fell so in love he despised the touch of other women from that moment on and only turned to them to waste time until they could be together, forever. And of course, they were. He remembered every holiday and birthday, gathering the images in leather bound photo albums. He was especially fond of one christmas when her family had made all their christmas tree ornaments from construction paper. And her twenty-second birthday where she had a bit too much to drink with friends. He thought it was cruel that one of her girlfriends took a picture of her outside the bar throwing up, but he loved all sides of her and kept the picture all the same.
It seemed as though they shared the same life. They had both had challenging childhoods: rough fathers and rougher children on the playground. They had both grown up shy and had an easier time expressing themselves in the written word, than in person. She was so unafraid to express herself in written word it took his breath away. She would write on and on about broken hearts or sudden triumphs, even the little things in life. And where all the men had failed before him, he was sure to succeed.
It was as though, no part of her was private, as if she, from the start had beckoned him to her with her accessibility. He only needed the courage to take her up on the challenge. To press from her more than the tease she so often gave to him. The seductive images of herself, where he knew damn well she wasn't wearing a shirt, or the one where a lollipop played against her lips. She tempted him and drove him crazy, waiting for the time when he could make her only his.

And there it was, one day that had felt no different when he first woke up. An address, her home. His home. She had given it up as easily as her opinion on the president and her protest against red meat.

Smoothing his suede jacket on his broad chest, and looking into the mirror, he was sure he loved her. And what was more, she loved him back. He might have never heard her voice before, she might never have seen his face. But all of that would change today...

Love works in mysterious ways.