He stood there as her inspiration. Wide-eyed innocence dappled with crevices mapped out street signs of the paths he once took, to distant lands she’d never get to see. Spanish Flamingo Dancers blazed in his eyes, Mexican tobacco the taste of his lips—lips that felt and drank the Sahara Desert. A pair of German chocolate eyes and strong, reliable Australian hands set everyone at ease. In awe, she understood she would never get to see the world he traveled, or the thoughts that ran inside his head every night before he went to sleep. Or the dreams he held locked away in his heart. The only glimpse she received was on his paper-thin skin, and wise humor, threatening like storm clouds in his toothy grin.

The day he walked down the aisle to say “I do”, he gave up on all he had seen—all he could have been—replaced with a bride-to-be. Shyly glancing down at his overworked feet, he drizzled caramel sauce on the girl’s pure-Vanilla life, once he said “I do.”

Standing in the aisle of what she once knew, he stood there as her inspiration forty years ago.
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And in his arms, she traveled the world.