A Thousand Poems, A Love Story by Carlos Salinas

A Thousand Poems

Pierre did not know how we was going to win her heart but he would win it. She would love him.

To see her was to fall in love with her. To hear her was to hear music. To feel her was to feel silk. Her beauty inspired a thousand poems within me. Some of which I tried to pen, but compared to her, it was gibberish. Her name was Elena, and although she was rich, she had a humble heart- not allowing her parents’ servants to do much for her- she washed her own clothes, cleaned her own room, and many more things. She enjoyed the simple things, I saw- just being with friends and laughing. She loved nature. She would write poems about the river close to her home-she was my river. She wrote a thousand poems about that river, and I wrote a thousand poems about her. Elena would celebrate her 17th birthday in a few days. What a celebration her parents planned for her; music, plenty of food, and all of her friends, myself included. And her gift? A car. Not to mention all the gifts from all her admirers. That’s what a beautiful face got her- a following of young men that would do and buy anything to have her heart.She won me over with her heart. She was such a simple and kind person. She shared everything she had- a drink, a cookie, a laugh. I loved her with all my heart.

Pierre thought and thought what he could give her for her birthday, he scribbled ideas on paper to get a clearer vision of what would make her the happiest. He didn’t have much money and knew that he could not compete with the gifts from the other young men.

I had one more day to get her her gift. It had to be perfect- no less would do. I didn’t even bother counting my money as I knew I could not by something suitable for her. What good would a cheap gift do her? As I walked through town looking at all the beautiful dresses that I wished I could buy for her, I saw a man selling ice cream. “That’s the kind of thing she would appreciate,” I said to myself. I sat on a bench and watched the people; some were enjoying their ice cream, others walking, and still others sitting and talking with friends. The whole world was oblivious to my current predicament. After what seemed like an eternity in thought, I finally stood up and walked more. Time was my enemy now! I walked alongside some more stores and boutiques -such beautiful jewelry! Any diamond or band of gold would be dimmed next her smile, her eyes! I considered myself very lucky to have such a bittersweet predicament. Finally I found her the perfect gift. The day finally came. It was her birthday and we all arrived at her house. As expected, the young men gave her the most beautiful necklaces with the most
exquisite of pearls, the finest gold, and the most precious of stones. I have to admit that I was a little discouraged after seeing all of the elegance of the gifts. Before I left, I handed her mom a small box wrapped in simple but happy wrapping paper. Later that evening, her mother gave Elena the gift from Pierre. Inside the small, carefully wrapped box was a small bag of flower seeds. It was a simple gift, but something more natural and beautiful to look at than all the jewelry she received that evening. From one flower, many more can grow. Elena’s heart would be warmed when the flowers finally blossomed in the small flower bed outside her window. They would be small, white bells. The final wave of warmth in her heart was the poem that accompanied her gift:

With You

My life is a garden,
And you are its most beautiful flower,
Your love is my rain,
And your eyes, a stars’ shower;

The sun shines brighter
When I’m with you,
I hope you feel it when
You’re with me too;

It’s something very special when
We’re together in harmony,
Together for another day,
Making another happy memory;

My life is a garden,
And you are its most beautiful flower,
Your love is my rain,
And your eyes, a stars’ shower.

Happy birthday,
Pierre

II

It was 3 days until he saw Elena again. She saw him sitting by the river at dusk. He was writing.
I can’t imagine ever running out of inspiration with her on my mind. The words just flow. Whether they were any good was up to the reader. My heart spoke and my hands listened.
“Thank you for my gift, it certainly stood out,” Elena broke the silence, approaching me.
I smiled and looked at her and then at the river. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Elena glanced at the river then back at me with a smile and a slight nod.
“Can I see you tomorrow night?” I asked.
“How about tonight?”
“Tonight too,” I smiled as I took her hand and she sat next to me on the soft grass. We laid by the river listening to the soft hum of the river water flowing by incessantly. With her in my arms, I felt totally powerless yet so happy at once; I wanted to protect her from everything and everyone. I cursed the time for passing by so quickly, as I knew I would have to take her home soon. I could have spent eternity by the river; the beauty in my arms envied the moon and the moon envied the beauty in my arms. And just as the moon would disappear, she would too. Night could not stay, nor could she. I loved her and I wondered if I would ever get the chance to show her.
We walked to her house in a quiet serenity of understanding. I told her I would come see her tomorrow night, but she said she was not allowed to go out tomorrow night.
“Then I will come to you, look for a light,” I replied.
She smile a smile that could’ve warmed the coldest December day. Then she hugged me tightly and went inside.

III

The next night I sat eagerly by the window in a futile attempt to read, looking out my window every few seconds. I was awaiting the light that was promised.
In a repeated attempt to begin the page, I saw a glimmer out of the corner of my eye. The light flickered and was too large to be a flashlight but not bright enough to be one. It swung from side to side in a bouncing motion; it must have hung from his neck. As he approached the house I could see what it was: a jar of fireflies!
My heart leapt from my chest and into my throat. As the light drew closer to my window, I began to hear a sweet sound in the air. A guitar! My heart then found new, faster, sweeter rhythm to beat to. It was the sweetest song I had ever heard, and what a voice! His fingers strummed the strings and his words pierced my heart. After the song finished, he threw a small rock through my window. There was a letter tied to it, it read:

I feel very special being next to you. Yesterday at the river we made a memory that I will keep in the deepest depths of my heart. My heart raced as you laid in my arms and fell asleep. I wish I could’ve stayed in that moment forever.

Good night,
Pierre