Love Is Blind

I know it is night-time, not because the sun has set, but because I can feel the evening breeze massaging my body, whispering wordless tunes to me. It is night-time because I hear the hustle and bustle of late-night travellers commuting to their homes, to restaurants, or wherever they fancy. It is night-time because Rose just called me, just as she calls every night since the day we met, the day I fell in love. “It’s good to hear your voice,” Rose said. It’s even better to hear yours, I thought. It’s all I have. “It’s good to hear yours too.” “I miss you,” she said in a soft voice. Whenever we talk, I’m taken back to our first date, on a wooden pier by the lake. Rose’s beauty stunned me, and her eyes took my breath away: crystal blue like the waters before us. It was a bittersweet moment, the moment I lost my sight. I’m not happy that I can’t see, but I’m glad Rose is the last person I saw, the best thing I’ve ever seen.