Voices

The first time I saw him his eyes were dark green. Nothing else stood out, I didn't see anything else, just those eyes. Never before had I seen such tremendous shades of green, gathered like a Christmas decoration in his look that radiated warmth and apathy at the same time.
Don't ask me about his name- I promised never to speak that call for surrender.
The next time I saw him first came the scent- the irresistable aroma of cinnamon and honey. I wondered for a very long time if his lips tasted the same way. His hands were smooth and his grasp on my shoulders firm. He was so warm...
This is not a love story; not a dream; it's not even a proper story. That is how I would have sounded if the world was different. I would've been this hopeless, too cheesy to believe, romantic. And I would like to thank all the known gods that I AM NOT. I prefer my cynical self better.
Do you know what happens to hopeless romantics?- And I don't refer to those lucky bastards in the happy ending- industry. In real life romantics die internally at the side of their own crushed dreams. There is no perfect love, even love as it comes is hard to find these days.
But here is what there is- perfect coincidence!
The voices in my head often tell me I'm crazy. SO what?! Crazy is good, when normal is better in a messed up world.
-Hey, have you heard about that girl with the weird hair?
-What about that poor thing?
-Poor thing, indeed! She still has hope...