The rain came down gently, almost as if it wasn’t raining at all. It was like a quiet presence that just lingered behind us, not knowing what it was watching.
The street lights sparkled with each step we took. The rays of each lamp bounced off her face with each stolen glance. If I was going to say something, I had to do it soon.
Eventually we made our way to a bench and sat down. Hannah drew close to me and we watched the stars and the moon dance by a waterway. She sighed and tightened her grasp on my left hand. It was time.
My free hand trembled and fondled the opening of my pant pocket. I never thought a two inch opening of cloth could feel like a cavernous divide of doubt, despair in longing. The moment my fingers touched the little felt box was akin to finding my own personal oasis. This was going to be my salvation. Or a source of all despair to the likes Pandora could only conjure.
But I had to try.
I pulled the box from my pocket and opened it with one hand.
“Hannah,” I whispered in her ear. “Will you marry me?”
The seconds scattered and sold their secrets to the water, the lights, the moon and the stars. Time lapsed and retreated and every sensation in my body was amplified ten fold. My breath paced and my head openly mocked every auspicious morsel of minutia that my heart assigned meaning to.
Decades passed in the form of instants and eyes, as they moved slowly upward, highlighted an eternity of anything any human could ever dream for. Her lips fell like snow on my cheek and she took the ring and put it on her finger.
“Yes,” exulted Hannah.
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