Tristan

Love at first sight was a boy smoking a cigar on his best friend’s porch.

Love at first sight was brown-eyed skepticism as I approached him with a smile and a “hi, nice to meet you.”

Love at first sight was an unassuming ten minute visit turned hours of laughter and smiles and we’ll-have-to-do-this-again-some-times.

Love at first sight was my best friend having to all but drag me away from him at the dawn hour because we just couldn’t cut our conversations short and say our goodbyes.

Love at first sight was both of our best friends confessing to us how they silently fawned over us all night that night, how they so clearly saw that we were both in love with each other already and didn’t want to let the other know it yet.

Love at first sight was watching that brown-eyed skepticism melt away by the night’s end and reveal a golden, honey-sweet warmth I’ve yet to see fade.

But love at first sight can’t be real, can it? It’s a fairy tale that gets your hopes up so high that the tallest shining armor-clad knight will never be able to reach them. Right?

Wrong.

Love at first sight is the way he always holds my hand and kisses it while he’s driving or walking at my side.

Love at first sight is his T-shirts he lets me sleep in, and the scent of him that clings to them and holds me tight while I dream.

Love at first sight is his smile, the most genuine, beautiful one I’ve seen in all my days.

Love at first sight is the way we cheer each other on while we work towards achieving our dreams.

Love at first sight is the smile that’s yet to leave my face as I write this story about him.

Love at first sight is a brown-eyed boy named Tristan.