Love Does Not Have Eyes

A man sat across a restaurant table from a woman, and as he spoke, his right hand gestured toward the woman, while his left, lay flat on the table, its index finger rubbing gently on the table cloth,

"I want to prove to you that love does not have eyes -- that while on the surface society adores youth and beauty, beneath such superficiality, romance is blind."

She looked at him intently, silently, revealing no hint of emotion, except her hand, which hovered, unmoving, above her coffee cup, clenching a spoon which she intended for the purpose of stirring her cream and sugar.

He did not smile when he continued, but looked at the woman, then down at her hand, trying to understand the thoughts hidden beneath her dour exterior,

"There was a man, not a young man, nor a distinguished elderly gentleman. He was just a man, with wrinkles, and gray hair, and a stoop when he walked. He was long past his prime, though if you looked steadily into his eyes, you could see the embers, of a once great fire, a glow that refused to completely die."

While the man spoke, his companion across the table began to quietly stir her coffee. He could tell by the way she held her head still, slightly turned downward, that she was listening to his tale.

"In another city far away there lived a woman, somewhat younger than the man, but not in her fullest bloom. Streaks of gray highlighted loose strands of hair that she would often push back into place behind her ears, in a self-conscious act to remain emotionally collected. "

Hearing this, the woman took her hand off her spoon and thought to move it to the side of her head, to check for loose strands, but resisted the temptation. She kept silent, but glanced up toward the man, their eyes meeting for a moment, giving her consent to continue,

"Though she too wore the marks of time, she was an attractive woman, though she had fallen into the habit of frowning too often. She was thin, maybe from too many years of watching her weight, her cheekbones sharply revealed her age in her face, and her lips, which she once considered her best feature, had grown thinner and pale, though not unappealing."

"Who knows how events happen, how fate plays a part in the meeting of a man and a woman. Lonely, she placed an ad in the personal section of the classifieds. She was both excited and repulsed at having done that -- there was always excitement in the notion of a new romance, but shame in having been reduced to such a desperate situation."

For the first time since the man began his story, the woman across from him spoke, "Was she desperate? lonely I can see, I don't think she was desperate."

The man looked kindly at her, a faint smile creasing the corners of his mouth, "No, she was not desperate." he amended.

"The man was reading his newspaper one day, and though it was not his typical routine, he scanned down the personal ads. He saw the one placed by the woman and was intrigued. Before he had a chance to think, and thus second guess his action, he dialed the number in the ad, and after a long conversation, the two decided to meet."

"They had much in common," he continued. "They both liked to dine out, to go to plays. They talked about their families, their jobs, but also about the future, what each wanted out of life. They became good friends, and naturally enough they then became intimate.

She smiled slightly at his last words, familiar with his story up to that point.

He returned her smile and then reached into his jacket pocket, taking out a small box, which he kept covered with his hand.

"There is more to the story," he said, revealing the box, which he then opened, in unison with his words. "Will you marry me?" His face bore no smile, giving emphasis to the seriousness of his question, but he could not hide the embers in his eyes which glowed brightly.

Taken by surprise, her tenuous lips formed an "O" and she looked up into his fire and did not attempt to put out the ardor she saw there. Though all she could managed to utter was a breathless, "Yes," it fanned the flames which grew stronger, extending to his entire face. He took the ring from the box and placed it in the palm of her slender, extended hand. After a brief pause, he picked up and slipped it onto her shaking, left index finger.

"And they lived happily ever after." he said with a youthful laugh, bringing an end to his story and hopefully proving to the reader his opening proposition, that beneath superficiality, love is blind.