Mother's Eyes

[Valentin Florescu]

     The room was dead. All still in the dark of night when the scraping of a key finding a lock would break the silence. A muffled click precedes the petulant groan of the entrance's hinges as the door was creaked opened, if only a crack. Warm light spilled in from the hall, cutting a sliver of illumination from the doorway to the disheveled, unoccupied bed in the opposite corner. A svelte figure slips through the gap, treading dreadful soft as if to avoid disturbing some unseen occupants. The door is drawn shut to his rear and locked with haste.

     A thin smile, weary and content, quirks his lips. He lingers in the doorway, contemplating the darkness about him as he draws back his cowl. A stray bundle of curls is thumbed back out of his eyes. A few, swift steps carry him across the room, not yet to the bed that called to him so, but to a desk fraught with crumbled parchments, stray books and inkwells alike. A cluttered mind made manifest. The familiar embrace of the chair draws him in, taking him in its oaken grasp as he reclines back. Stray parchment is thrown about with haphazard abandon, half-finished scrawlings tossed to the floor until he seizes his prize, a pair of unblemished sheets buried beneath the refuse.

     As he squared off his writing materials just so before him, he'd find his thoughts drifting to things other than work. The many faces of the day, some smiling, others austere, came to him then. A sigh stills him, the fresh inkwell he'd claimed going unopened as one in particular burned its way to the fore. Another smile, somber, as he allowed himself the moment to enjoy the picture in his mind's eye. He could see it clearly then; the man's golden-brown mane, his gentle, nervous grin and the warmth he radiated. A marked contrast to the soul who's thoughts the radiant figure now dominated.

     Yet, there was nothing to be done, at least for this night. Forcing all further thoughts of the other from his mind, the man would finally freshen his quill with ink and begin to write.