Love at First Sight

Love at First Sight

A Story by bourgeois hippy

Ah... What's it mean to you?


Walking to Philosophy 411 on Tuesday, he had to stop in his tracks when their eyes caught. She was sitting cross-legged on a concrete bench in front of the library, lighting a light cigarette with a match that she proceeded to put to her lips with her left hand. Her blue eyes gleamed as her soft lips curved into a smile.

He walked towards the bench, their eyes locked for the entire journey. He sat down to the left of her, setting his backpack on the ground and crossing his legs like her.

“May I borrow a cigarette?” he asked her, their eyes still locked.

She opened the pack and held it out to him, not breaking eye contact until he’d pulled out the last cigarette and put it between his lips, at which time she turned to grab the pack of matches lying on the bench, pulling one out and striking it ever so carefully. She brought the flame to the stick of unlit time in his mouth.

He took his first drag as she waved out the match, smiling broadly at him for a curt moment. She then looked away into the distance as she put the cigarette to her lips again, letting the smoke slowly seep out of her mouth.

“Thank you,” he said with a smile, exhaling.

A fresh smile surfaced on her face as she turned her body to face him. He followed suit.  “With pleasure,” she said softly as she stared into his eyes for another few seconds and took another puff of her cigarette.

Exploring one another’s eyes, grinning and lightly laughing, the two slowly smoked through the first halves of their cigarettes, cycling through the range of possible movements two lips can perform, sweeping the spectrum of emotion a pair of smiles can mysteriously communicate together. Finally, he chuckled as he looked down for a few instants, dragging the light cigarette, looking towards the grass behind the bench but seeing nothing but space and time.  He sensed her hand slowly reaching his neck and gently pulling him closer.

“Kiss me, already,” she whispered, her nose brushing his, her smile a blurred double vision as he looked to her lips.

“I was gonna wait to finish the--”

Her soft lips brushed his own, interrupting his faint gest. Tasting a new sentiment he could only interpret as alluring magic, he sensed that this kiss had already been cultivated in another time. He soaked it in and absorbed its warm aura, feeling her smile against his as he savored the seconds. The slowly caressing tongues paraded in passionate, recognized movements as they slowly pushed the other away for a final, tender conclusion.

Their eyelids slowly rose, aware of the pupils still locked together in boundless constriction. Inching back, they grinned again as they each took a drag of their cigarette. They exhaled upwards, the smoke seamlessly meshing into a cloud of fictional splendor. The rest of the scene turned to haze as they sat there, the sounds of students passing wavering into silence.

“Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night?” he asked her, looking at his cigarette. He had three good drags left.

“Sure,” she said, putting her own cigarette out on the ground and tossing it into the trash can adjacent to the bench.

“What’s your name?” he said, inhaling again.

“What’s it matter?” she responded, rising off the bench and kissing him on the cheek. “Meet me here at six, tomorrow night?”

“That works.” He looked up into her eyes, her image silhouetted by the sun behind her.

“Bye,” she whispered, her palm brushing his neck as she walked off.

He took one last smokeful from the light cigarette, and dropped it on the concrete, watching the smoke of that lost drag fade into the daylight.

© 2009 bourgeois hippy

My Review

Would you like to review this Story?
Login | Register

Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Added on July 31, 2009
Last Updated on July 31, 2009


bourgeois hippy
bourgeois hippy

Hollywood, CA

It's hard for me to spit out words in an effort to create thought for myself to read later. Sometimes these thoughts are so hard to rationalize that I often wonder if they're anything but the dreams t.. more..