::.moments like these.::

She looked into his eyes. Clarity. Things always seemed to get clearer when she looked into his eyes. The world became real again; unclouded and really, just less confusing. She couldn’t explain it. It’s like when she looked into his eyes, things made sense and she felt.. Home. She felt secure. The way a little girl feels when her dad wraps her up in his arms and tells it’s going to be ok. It was a settling feeling, one of warm feelings and butterflies. His eyes seemed to look deep into her soul and instead of being scared by what he might see, she felt comforted because she knew he would never look away, no matter how ugly she looked on the inside. He would always find her beautiful. He would always find her blameless. Pure.
Silence stretched across the field as they stared at each other. Time stopped, or at least it seemed to. The gusting wind that had been blowing the grass this way and that seemed to blow no more, and the rustling of the leaves seemed to diminish to a whisper while they held their gaze. It was as if the earth itself knew the thoughts of the two people standing in the field, all by themselves, speaking not a word, not daring to break the silent calm that spread between them. They weren’t scared of the silence, they encouraged it. The two people standing in that field had been through a lot with each other. They knew each other like they knew themselves. They were each other’s best friends and there something comforting in their relationship. They knew that no matter what they would always be there for each other. Neither one had to worry about the future of their relationship, nor the past. The present was their closest companion, and it drove them onward.
Moments like these are to be cherished always. The present. The moments when time itself seems to stand still and silence is welcomed and not discouraged. Times when love is not a thought but an action and where one’s eyes express more than what mere words could say. These moments ought to be cherished and remembered, the past never forgotten.