His

He is standing there; tall, handsome, his pale face accentuated beautifully by his choppy brown hair. He stood tall with an air of confidence; face tense and focused. He was watching, he was waiting for something. His body was strong. His demeanor was proud. His heart was light. His nerves were high; sweat beads forming at his hairline, and a slight quake formed in his crossed hands, all while remaining at ease. His green eyes were graceful. Every few minutes they would scan the surroundings. Yet, he was not seeing anything that day except for one thing. He would only be seeing that which he was waiting for. He was watching, and he was waiting.
All of the sudden a melodious tune filled the air. Instantly his back stiffened, and a tiny smile crept into existence upon his face. He looked down, and then looked back up, brushing the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve simultaneously. Returning to his prior stance, he watches as a few beautiful women walk by. But then, his heart stops. He sees her. She makes her way gracefully towards him. A tear escapes his masculine heart and eye. Her beauty is captivating him just as it has done every day prior to this one. Thoughts of love and adoration flood him; thoughts of moments; the beautiful and not so beautiful, the talks, the walks, the tears, the fears, the years. He is shaken from these thoughts when she arrives before him. Now he seems complete. His deep eyes peer into hers with a gently love. His quaking hands reach for hers; his brides.

***

I oberserved someone simply sitting in the cafeteria. My thoughts kept jogging towards why they were sitting alone with an abundance of people around? Were they alone or waiting for someone? What would that difference look like? I took from my notes and focused upon the idea of waiting. I ran with the bride and groom scenerio.