To Him Who Started It All I
To Him Who Started It All I fiction2016 stories
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taintedskies
taintedskiesTeenage amateur writer. Wattpader.
Autoplay OFF  •  a year ago
A letter to him who started it all.

To Him Who Started It All I

by taintedskies

To Him Who Started It All,

We met at a bad point in my life. I had just been stood up by my fiancé at the alter.

And there I was,

Still clad in my wedding dress, bitterly drowning my sorrows with alcohol.

And then in an instant, there you were

Almost like an unwanted blessing. There, you stood, at the entrance of the bar, eyes assessing the room.

Mesmerized, I sat there, staring at your utter beauty

I never expected your eyes to look my way. But when they did, it could be described as nothing short of magical.

The way you stared,

It was almost like you weren't staring at me, but through me. Almost like you could read by whole story just by looking at me. And I guess in a way, you did.

Almost like the an invisible pull,

You found your way over to me. The first thing I seemed to notice, were your eyes. Oh god, those eyes. They were just the perfect amount of grey with a tiny fleck of gold, quite unusual.

The first thing you did was take in my devastated form

I don't remember much more of that night, but I know that I had held a strong feeling of distrust towards you.

I mean, how couldn't I?

It was someone of your same kind that had stood me up a few hours before.

And then you did something

That I never expected in a million years. Instead of hitting on me, try to buy me a drink or use a pick-up line, you asked if I was okay, laying a worried hand on my shoulder.

I remembered my eyes softened at your question

I stared at you in shock. Out all the other men in the club, you were the first one to even care enough to ask that.

I was surprised, then shocked,

Not even knowing how to respond. You cared. You really did. I could see it in your eyes.

Then everything came back

The lies, the marriage, the reception. I burst out into tears, completely embarrassed by my reaction, thinking you probably thought I was a weirdo.

But you didn't. You didn't.

You sat beside me, trying your upmost hardest to console me. You stayed there as I cried and cried, just holding me.

After I was finished, I smiled nervously.

I had singlehandedly managed to not only wet your shirt, but leave mascara residue all over.

"Oh my god," I'd said, covering my face in embarrassment.

"I can't believe I did that to your shirt." You chuckled slightly. It had been the deepest, richest sound I had ever heard. If honey had a sound, that would have been it.

"Hey, hey," you withdrew my hands from my face "it's okay."

Your voice had been even better. "At least I can tell people that I got the stains from a pretty girl."

I smiled, then so did you.

And before I knew, we had ordered rounds and rounds of beer, talking about any and everything. And the rest was history.

Now, here we are, few years later.

With you cuddled up to me on the couch, watching a movie. I stare lovingly down at you, and realize, that I wouldn't have this any other way.

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