Once, long ago, I had met a man. I don’t remember his name, though he must have told it to me.
I remember…things, though. His hair was to his shoulders, and it was the color orange, like an Arizona sunset, and his eyes were bottomless pools of deep earth.
His smile was kind when he asked me if I was lost. I told him I was.
He asked if I needed help. I told him I didn’t: I had someone coming for me.
He asked me if I liked magic, his warm eyes sparkling in merriment. I lied, and said that I did. Honestly, it had been so long since I believed in magic.
He laughed: a clear sound, merry and tinkling, like a babbling brook. Then he asked me my name. I did not reply.
When you joined me again, and saw me lost in this strangers eyes, and thoughts filled with warmth, summer, and comfort, you pulled me out.
You took my hand, and pulled me, shaking, away. I thanked you.
You asked if I was OK. I told you that I was.
You were so concerned, and you asked if I had told him my name. It was endearing, and I smiled, shaking my head, telling you no, I hadn’t.
You look relieved, and smile, nodding, telling me that it’s not wise to let someone like that know your name. I chuckled, thinking back on our meeting.
I agree: it isn’t wise to let someone like that know your name.
(P.S As always, these prompts are not original, and most were found on pinterest. I’ll take a day here soon and find all the original links. Thank you for your patience in the meantime!)
J.A.S Writings 