It was my first time entering this local coffee shop. I was pleased to see that it was exceeding my initial expectations of it being a smelly hangout for all the drugged out hipsters in this day and age. But it was also there I saw him first.
He had been sitting by himself, drinking his coffee, and reading his newspaper – a relatively normal act for a man in a coffee shop. Every time he went to brush his dark hair out of his eyes, the sleeve of his shirt hitched, exhibiting more tattoos that covered his arms. But the tattoos were not the only thing that unnerved me about him – the way he was sitting. He seemed to be wary, expecting the worst, and ready to attack.
That day, I had been reading Wuthering Heights. As I went to move up, after spending a bit too long studying him, my phone rang – surprising me. It had been my mother, asking if I was able to attend dinner that evening. I went to grab my book and my bag, which had dropped from my hands when the phone rang, I realized that it was right in front of me – in the hands of the man I had been studying not too long ago.
His hair was disarrayed and messy, giving it the 'bed-head' look that I loved so dearly. His face was angular and firm. His eyes were the most distinctive feature – they were a deadly cerulean blue; something was carefully hidden behind those eyes, I had noted at the time.
I thanked him gratefully, telling him that he didn't need to do that, but it was very kind of him to do so.
He told me that it was no big deal, and gave me his name – Dillon.
And in return, I gave him mine – Emily.
I went back to that coffee shop, in hopes to see him again. As I scoped the general area out, I noticed a dark haired man sitting towards the back. I had made my way towards him, deciding to talk to him. I was much intrigued by him, and the mysterious aura that surrounded him.
As we sipped the wondrous coffee supplied by the café, we conversed. Our topics ranged from the Revolution of France to compelling anthologies to liberalism versus conservatism to bizarre indie films. We kept on meeting for coffee, and soon it had become easy for me to confide my woes to him.
Our blossoming friendship was growing to be much more.
Our feelings were finally being unearthed, and finally he asked me out on a date. Thankfully, it was not to the café where we first met.
Though, I do not remember the date itself very well, I will never forget what I wore. I had spent hours looking at my wardrobe in horror, with no idea what to where. With an hour left till the date, I had slipped on an off the shoulder top with jeans. He told me I looked ravishing.
We fell in love with each other, that was clear. It was real, sincere, and wholesome. I had come to the realization that I could not live without him, that we had to be together, and he had thought so too. We were infatuated with each other, and it wasn't healthy.
The last time I saw him, he was behind bars.
He told me he was a writer, which I found endearing.
In reality, he was a drug dealer.
Also, part of a gang.
In retrospect, if I had spent more time paying attention to his outward appearance rather than his inside beauty, I would have noticed all the cuts and bruises, and the funny smell that surrounded his body at times.
But, there was nothing that would have led me to think that he was a murderer.
He wasn't a liar, though. He was trying to change… for me. He did love me. But you can only lead a horse to water – it wasn't his sort of lifestyle.
I was furious at him when I found out, how could he keep such a dark secret from me, his fiancée?
He is in jail now.
I have come to the realization that I cannot live without him. He is my soul, he is the air that I breathe, he is my sun.
It is still dark outside, but you can see the sun peeking out from behind the tall buildings.
He is to die today.
The concrete slabs around me look sinister, as I step on them.
"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the Universe would turn into a mighty stranger."
I am high above the ground. As I spread my wings and jump, I murmur to the wind, to him, "I love you."