See each others’ souls through the eyes

I have not seen a love story movie in years; I haven’t seen a movie that made me cry for years, either. To sum it all up, I haven’t seen a love story movie that made me cry. I watched the movie The Notebook, another Nicholas Sparks’s book, last night. Yes, it’s an old movie; I didn’t have the chance to catch it in the theaters, so I watched it in DVD.

Summer love could change someone’s life; as it did in this movie. How I wish I had something similar to that; something to reminisce – to remember and share when I am old and grey. Just take a look at this one.

Madeline had been sitting by the river bank for at least an hour, with her feet dipped at the icy, cold waters. She was back at her old hometown, which she hadn’t visited for more than four years. She had not seen any of her old friends; maybe because her return had been hushed. The river behind her grandmother’s house had been her solace for three days now.

Memories of summer days spent under the scorching sun and plunges in the river with friends filled her as she watched the ripples in the water. She remembered everything: the high laughs; the achy feet; the sun-burnt skin; the exchanged glances with a certain boy; the feel of his touch on her face; the brush of their lips under the moonlight; and the hurtful goodbye.

A barking dog approaching broke through Madeline’s reveries and brought her back to the present. She then heard someone shouting, “Come here, boy!” The voice sounded familiar but she wasn’t quite sure for she hadn’t talked with anyone since she arrived saved for her aging grandmother and the housekeeper; and so Madeline turned her gaze towards the young man running after the great Labrador that had precariously stopped and rested beside her.

Oh, I could go on with that story, but I don’t have the time. Did you like it? As I was typing down the lines, a little story has started to mold in my head. Let me know if I should go on.

Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation. – Kahil Gibran