The Christmas Doll
He longed for her eyes, even with the hate. It has been a while and he wished. Now, was it her love she feared that kept her eyes away. No reason mattered for the lost he felt. Her hazel eyes pierced his soul and opened it to the wonders of God. Without, his soul closed. God even failed in opening it, again. Parading around and around the iron fence all the faces and noisy crowds he saw nor heard not. Her eyes. He needed her eyes. He loved loving God, but He was second to her. Woman he hoped would have mercy on him. Her eyes held all his love. To see them, again, and to end the daggers wounding his heart. What was she afraid of he had to ask? Did love scare her so. The tapping of her fingers on his hand to wake him from his nap he felt her desire to be free. Free to be loved for herself. Free to be more than she ever could be without his love. His love was there. What held her back? Black spears of wrought iron and fancy design did make the fence. Old Jackson reared his horse to show how proud he was of his fence. As he walked around one more time the square, the bells of St. Louis the Church rung out. He felt the tears of Angels for his plight. With each drop, he took on their sorrow. How much more could he take. Mercy on him; mercy on her. The journey to the gate of such wonders should be of joy and enjoying the time of being two before Above Cognitive becoming One.
If she had any thought of his love growing away and being gone, the furthest from the truth the cliché. As he rounded the corner, the street sign said "Royal Street," and a few feet more, the big display window caught his red eyes. The sun shined into the window that day. All hope and dreams he saw in those eyes. The Christmas doll of an Angel. The eyes were still as blue waters but saw into his soul. The hair flowed with curls to match your face. The whiteness of a tan in rays from the beach, or from fires of burning demons. Lips with the color of faith red and softness of the clouds. And of course the wings. Tint of pink lining the white. Shadows of ashes grey here and there. Her shape unhid from the silky gown. If the sale sign didn't speak, awaiting her breath he would have been. No love or need. Just a spark of memory of the one he truly loved. His longing worsened for his only One. He dragged himself away down the walk. With turns and quick steps, back again was he. His journey repeated over and over. His hope one day to find the key. The key to a new journey straight ahead through the gate of Above Cognitive.
Shadows of the buildings across the street draped the window more and more. Time to leave and quit the journey was near. Crossing the eyes a shadow begun. This last time the eyes were so hazel. The urge to pound his head so great as he saw the life within the eyes. No, it cannot be. He looked, again. No movement of eyes, but the lips. More moist than before. His head from one side to the other. It cannot be. The hair, the curls, the wind blowing through. Cannot be. The glass, no fans to see. The wings cannot be flapping. He rubbed his face and brows. No sweat in his eyes. Her shape shook him to his core. He saw in his mind the envy of painters and sculptors from the Renaissance. He giggled picturing the wise Greeks gathered discussing the meaning of life, as he swore, she took a breath of air. All the more he thought of her, the one of true love. The longing now to open his soul to the spirit of Christmas this Christmas Day. The need to rush home for he knew she was his key, their key, to Above Cognitive and each other.
"Guts to get in the car," a yellow Camaro. This no movie. Unlike Transformers she had fears. Closer to home he came to comfort her fears. He smiled from a memory. She walked down the lane towards home; towards him. Rushing by a littlest of Angels and her dog. He stood waiting for his heart, for her to bring. The beauty what could he said. Each step she took, he took, waiting no more. Closer they came her heartbeat grew louder. Walking side-by-side back home her fear more than her beating heart. Today, this Christmas Day no more fears. To hell with bigotry, bias, and pompous eyes. Turning into the lane she stood the far end. Out he got from the car. No more walls or obstacles between them. She was his strength today against his fears she had no love for him. As she got closer, more of the Christmas doll came to mind. Within a foot she stood, he saw blue in her hazel eyes; then, green. No, it cannot be. The wind blew her curly hair across her matching face. No, cannot be. With a last step, arms around her waist. Shook to the core did she. As they hugged, he felt wings around his shoulders. Cannot be. With a kiss, he found the key to continue the journey of two becoming One. Or, was it all about the writing of a story about Above Cognitive in an old history town of New Orleans.