The Chip

The chip on his shoulder seemed to lighten some when he was with her. Hard times and painful memories of the past drifted away on the waves of hope and love that flowed between them. Her delicate face showed him that real beauty and acceptance was not something that had been lost to time, ideals not yet completely out of his grasp.

But he struggled constantly with these ancient feelings when she was near. What seemed like eons had passed behind him since happiness had filled his dark heart. The forgotten emotions were strangely familiar to his scarred and twisted mind, and yet they drenched him with a terrifying newness that made him shiver and long for the heat of hatred and anger that fired his soul since his youth.

Her flowing hair and innate humor unknowingly cast a calming spell over him. She tempered his fierceness by seeing past his bitter armor and cold shell. The person inside the man was all her shining eyes could see, but this aura and power that encompassed her was only visible in his foggy mind. She loved the big brute, and that was all. The horrific tales of his past, the look of his weathered face, even the solitude he demanded were completely overlooked and immaterial to her.

He loved her, and had loved her since before he knew she was even real. His love for her struck the moment he focused his then drunken gaze on her flowing white dress. She was an angel, appearing out of the sun, pure and untouched by the world that he knew. He had reached one thick arm out to her, attempting to touch heaven from the gutter where he laid that cold morning.