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She waited by the door of the restauraunt, not knowing what to expect. If she was nervous, though, only she knew it. Not a bit of worry made it to her face. She seemed to be completely composed: resolved, even. The inside of her mind, however, was in turmoil. Her heart was in a frenzy. She had been hurt before, so she knew being too forward could ruin the whole night. She was almost sure of her ability to be distant all night. That is, of course, until he finally showed up. His demeanor was gentlemanly. He made sure she knew he was there for her , and not the other way around. All he had to give was hers, and he told as much. And so like the leaves, my friend, they fell. In love, though.
Where to start? With how he melted when he saw how stunning and effortlessly beautiful she was, or how her knees almost gave out when he smiled? How she thought the world revolved around his words, or the fireworks that went off when she touched his arm for the first time? Should I describe the conversation that flowed like the wine provided by that wonderful restauraunt? The connection, maybe, that had been made so suddenly? So easily? Does it matter? They fell in love, and so fast, you'd think that they'd have whiplash. They laughed, danced, and kissed under the moon, and that's more than most could ever hope for. The two have everthing to be happy for, and all thanks to that one romantic night. I hear you ask, what's the point? Does love have a point?
Copyright 2008 Michael-Austin Witt
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