My Funny Valentine

Dedicated to the one who didn’t even need to try to make me love him – “Pepe”.

He was beautiful. In the way they portray Jesus to have looked – And not that I mean to blaspheme and compare this man to the King of Kings.

He was beautiful in that, he was too beautiful to fall in love with so was adequate just to adore him.

His eyes were that beautiful, bright sparkling blue – like a clear sky over the bluest ocean. I prefer green eyes, or the deepness of brown, but his became my favourite colour when they stared into mine.

He smiled at me often, and when he looked at me I felt like he saw into the very depths of my soul. And not in a creepy prying way, but as if my soul was what he saw and not my face.

His hair was blonde, in that hippie kind of way, roughly parted in the middle, and hung in a loose ponytail. He looked like he belonged in Lost, or on Levi jeans billboard. Or sunbathing on the beaches of his native northern Italy.

I wanted him to be arrogant, and then at least he would be aware of how beautiful he was. I felt that he had more than every reason to be.
But he walked around, unaware of himself and the stares he attracted.

He was unaware of how my face would burn up whenever he walked into the shop, and came over to the bar.
He didn’t notice that whenever he reached for my hand to just hold it my hand would melt in his. He had no clue.

He must not have known that I held onto every conversation we had. It was easy because he’d write everything down onto receipts, paper plates or napkins. And I’d put them aside.

I liked that he wasn’t loud, not in his manner or his voice. His clothing was mute and never advertised the fact that he owned a mansion in South Kensington and Chelsea. Even his laugh was silent, yet somehow you could hear it.

What I loved most about him, even though the most salient was his beautiful face, was that he represented a tranquil beauty both inside and out. It didn’t boast or beg to be seen.

He carried around with him a brown, leather Italian Bible, yet he never shoved it in front of anyone and tried to preach to them.

He preached without shouting at the top of his lungs how much Jesus loves everyone. He showed it through his smile and the time he spent writing on napkins and holding my hand.

He had purposefully decided to no longer speak, and yet without a voice he was the loudest in the room. Without his voice he was still heard above all the ones proclaiming that he was trying to show the world something wonderful and different.

He reminded me that beauty was not found in loud adornment, or in riches. He showed me that love didn’t need to be a part of a constant reminder of roses and words.

He made me realise that the most beautiful things are the most quiet, and the most unassuming.

– ♥indiesoulchild

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