Hearts Speaking to Hearts

I wrote the following account on July 23, 2006 intending for some sort of story to evolve. It has been more than a year, and I don't believe I have once attempted to continue it. But here I sit, a year later, with fresh eyes, and I wonder at the indefinable desires and dreams that I felt in my spirit and heart at that time. To think that almost an entire year past before my understanding of these dreams and desires took on any tangible substance. I think that I understand these things better, but I have been known to think wrong. And yet, even if I do have a better sense of what it is I hoped to be "different," I am just as far from experiencing it as ever. At least that's how it feels. But God is gracious and is able to do far more than we could ever ask or imagine. And so I hope. I hope that I can experience what it's like when hearts speak to hearts.

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At first, there was nothing.

But soon an awareness grew. The familiar sensation of waking in one's bed. Rolling over and pulling the blankets up tighter, reluctant to leave that state of rest. Ah, sleep. Just a few moments more...

But instead of drifting off again as usual, she found a certain something pulling at the small part of her that had woken. Everything felt familiar, like the gazillion other times she woke in her bed each morning. But this particular morning, she felt herself drawn more towards wakefulness than slumber. There was something in the air--as subtle as a waft of fall leaves and as intangible as the taste of anticipation--something imperceptible yet very physical at the same time was drawing her.

She opened her eyes.

Rather quickly disappointment fell. Everything was the same. She rolled over to face the clock, pulling the bedsheets around her as she turned. 9:47. Just to make sure, she made a quick but thorough scan of her room: bedside table with piles of books, lamp, pictures of college friends on the wall, dresser littered with bottles of lotions and primping products, fireplace with candles and more pictures, wardrobe, curtai-- she glanced back at the wardrobe with a girlish hope that somehow Narnia had come to her small townhouse but smiled off the thought almost as quickly as it arose--, curtains, desk strewn with books and papers, the doorway, and she was back to her bed.

Nothing.

She figured she had just been reading too many fantasy novels of late and so rolled back over for a few more moments rest.
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It had been an uneventful morning.

Breakfast, a cup of coffee, some research. She decided to head outdoors for a stroll. Summer was ending and she thought she could actually see anticipation for the coming school year in the eyes of a few young gentlemen she passed. "Strange," she thought to herself, "Wouldn't have pegged them as book-lovers." This sent her into ponderings about scholarship and academia when her attention was abruptly swept towards an older woman across the road. Sensing the woman's loneliness, the stroller offered a bright smile, "good afternoon," and a wave. The gesture had a striking impact that made the girl glad.

And she continued to walk.
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