When I first saw him, he was sitting on a chair. Although, it would be fair to say that it was not him I noticed in the first place, but, rather what he was holding: it was a small "roto" (a tiny, furry animal, a bird that looks like some sort of a rodent). I immediately stopped, and asked what it was, and if I could pet it. While doing so, I kneeled before him, and that is when I noticed him.
Not only was he beautiful, but he had this intense beauty that pierced right through me and almost forced me to stand still, gazing into his eyes for a few seconds. His hair was straight, silky, falling just a little below his shoulders, dressed in a sweet honey brown; his eyes, of the same colour, almost turned green when the sun hit them. But the one feature that kept me enchanted for the most time, was his mouth. Was it? No, it was not his mouth; it was the smile. When his face turned to me and he smiled, I felt protected, I felt safe, as if nothing bad could ever happen to me, and no one could ever harm me.
I saw him again; after a short while, when I was leaving; he was going up the escalator. I was too shy to look at him at first, but when I reluctantly did so, I was more than rewarded; he kept smiling at me - even playfully blew a kiss at last, before I lost him from my sight.
I did not really expect to see him ever again, but I was surprised next day, when I set eyes on him again. I felt as if he had planned it, mainly because of his ever so warm smile that did not prove any surprise at all. My content was immense. We spent the rest of the day together, as if we knew each other forever - not as plain friends, but as something slightly more. He played the keyboard dancing around, and every conversation we had was not spoken, but sung. I was so happy, just to merely have him around me, smiling in his own wonderful manner, protectively, almost like someone who wanted to have me in his life. His clothes were colourful, with big patches of red and yellow, bringing to mind some wondrous charmer from a magical fairytale, who, with his flute as a powerful weapon, could charm and bewitch me to the point where I would follow him everywhere. Truth be told; I wanted nothing less.
I was still not sure to see him next day, no one had made such a promise; and yet, I knew I would. So did he; in fact, it seemed to me like it was for him to decide, and he was, perhaps, as eager for us to meet, as I was. Like I felt, I saw him. But something was different and quite odd; he was not standing up, nor did he come near me. He was sitting on a chair, but not just a plain one; it was a wheelchair. He was not capable of standing up, much less walking. How had I not seen that before? My surprise was big, but not nearly as much as my feeling of sadness. Why was this happening? How was it even possible? He was unable to stand, and yet his smile would not for a second leave his face as he looked at me. A new lovely feature was visible at one on him: he was brave. He was so awfully brave, and filled so much with his will to enjoy life (and perhaps, I'd like to add, his will to see me) that he overcame this difficulty. And still, I was sad. I almost couldn't bear seeing him in such a condition, no matter how happy he still seemed. He beckoned for me to go near him, obviously waiting for another beautiful day. However, as much as I wanted to, I could not disguise my emotions, and as I went near him and kneeled before his chair -this monstrous symbol of limitation and inability- my eyes betrayed me by proving my inner feelings. He looked at me, a shade of gray quickly passing from his beautiful eyes that instantly turned to a dark brown. his expression was similar to mine; it obviously saddened him to see me in such a state of emotions. His face was close to mind, as his lips slowly parted from each other, and he asked me in a heart-breaking sad voice: "My beautiful angel, why are you sad?". I dared not answer his question; I was terrified that he would mistake my concern for pity, and I knew he could not stand such a thing. But he kept looking at me, and so I had no choice but to answer him, I could not leave him worried for a second more. And so, I hesitantly tried to reply, stuttering: "I... I just... I cannot stand seeing you like that." To my absolute terror, what I had feared, became true. His expression changed at once. What... was that anger? His beautiful and protective smile vanished and his eyes almost turned black... "So you feel pity for me? I could never imagine you would do such a thing."
The disgrace and, worse, disgust I saw in his eyes and heard in his voice were unbearable. I wanted to explain that it was not like that, that I was torn because he could not walk, but at the same time I was amazed by his bravery and strength; not for a second did I feel sorry for him or pity him in the slightest way -I never would. But there was not time for explanations; he immediately turned his chair the other way and moved away from me, until he vanished from my sight.What I felt, truly cannot be put in words. I was more than torn, felt as if he had ripped my heart out, but I could not ever blame him for that. All the blame I put it on me, me only.
Starting from the next day, I looked for him everywhere, tried to contact him in every possible way, but miserably failed to do so. I was so upset, that nothing could make me enjoy going out and seeing other people. Everything I used to enjoy doing, suddenly was nothing; everything had lost all meaning after his sudden disappearance. I think I saw him once, from some distance, walking alone. I tried to reach him; I started running towards him, but he understood it and vanished. I kept running alone, calling out to him: "it is a dream I'm living this all in, and I have to make it right before I wake." A few days passed by, not many though -perhaps just one or two; I cannot accurately remember, but that's how long it felt to me. The days passed more miserably than any others, my feelings of guilt and remorse growing more and more intense. When, suddenly, on the last of those miserable days, he got in touch with me. He sent me a message through the cold screen. But I could never care about the way and the means, since he gave me one last hope. His message read: "I want to meet and talk."