Artist Daniel Gerhartz: pinterest.com
Romantic Flash Fiction:
Morning sunlight streamed into the courtyard as the swallows who made a home here chirped their contented salute to the day. Nightingales were the loudest, their songs echoing like a symphony off the stucco walls of the elaborate Spanish home. A cool breeze tickled the air and the roses that grew in the courtyard gardens flourished in the spring dew. White columns lined the south porch near a stone staircase that led to the interior of the mansion.
You were leaning against one of the columns when I first saw you, where my breath was stolen from me for a moment, lost in the realization that I had been in the presence of heavenly beauty. I smiled at how the sunlight made your blonde hair glow like a golden tiara and how its delicate rays settled over your slim, creamy shoulders and melted into the artistry of your radiance. You were holding a rose, leaning against the column, your eyes melancholy, and my heart went out to you. Someone must have hurt you, and in that moment I wanted to slide into you and hold you and be the shoulder you could cry on.
Your eyes were distant, and at first, you didn’t even see me there watching you. You were twiddling with the golden pendant on your necklace, rubbing it languidly in your fingers, and I wondered if he gave that to you, and what special significance it held in your life. I wanted to know this and so much more about you. I wanted to step into your life like bathing in warm natural springs and making myself the heat that enveloped your skin, your heart, your tender soul. I wondered if you would even let me. I wondered why you were holding the rose, and if love was on your mind like it was on mine. Would you let me in if I revealed to you the light of my love, the sound of the birds singing in my heart?
Your eyes glanced up as if on cue to my thoughts that clung to your heart and refused to let go. You gasped and lowered your hand that held the rose.
“Who are you?” you asked.
“Coriander,” I said your name, coming closer. I sensed your discomfort but wanted to set your heart at ease. “We’ve met before. Years ago. Outside a quiet pub in the center of town, we shared a glass of wine and a kiss that I’ll remember to the day I die.”
Your eyes suddenly filled with recognition and your chest lifted as you lightly gasped. “Is it you? All those years ago. We were young, lonely travelers crossing paths in our journey to nowhere.”
“To somewhere,” I grinned, my heart filled with joy that you remembered.
“Barely old enough to drink.”
“But old enough to love,” I said, sliding into your personal space. You didn’t move, your face glowing in the sunlight.
“Yes,” you whispered, your eyes sparkling.
I took the rose from your hand and brought it to my nose, inhaling its sweet fragrance, closing my eyes and wondering if I was dreaming or really awake. I handed the rose back to you.
“What are you doing here?” you asked breathlessly.
“To find that woman I fell in love with back then,” I replied.
Your eyes returned to the melancholy woman I saw when I had first come in. “Time changes things,” you said.
“There are some things time can’t touch,” I responded, my fingers lightly brushing loose strands of hair away from your face. “Come out with me tonight. Let me show you.”