He is just a simple man. Never with any pretensions of being what he’s not. He will not even lie to make her feel better. That is not his way. In others’ eyes he is neither handsome nor brilliant. In hers he is a superhero and that’s how it should be, for she has been battered. Slammed and pummelled and tossed aside as waste in that odd deceitful storybook-lying world of love. He has been only cautious, wise enough to see the dangers from the outside.
They stumbled into each other against all reasonable odds. Crossing oceans and deserts and emotional divides so vast others would have turned away; but they were brave. For that once, oh so important time, they were brave and set forth at first with brazen determination and then slowing down when the dangers were beginning to be realised and then, finally, tentative baby steps, but always moving forward.
On a cool Botswana night, when the cicadas roared in the trees after a day of hiding from the heat, they made the journey. A night of massive skies and the hint of starlight that couldn’t quite compete with the magnificence of a full, creamy moon. Roosters crowed confused. Dogs howled. And the simple act of recognising a safe place within the other happened. It was frightening beyond measure; liberating like being released from a jail, but then scared straight by the vast openness found on the other side of the gates. Love is like that, they found. Under the heavy moon that squashed the starlight, they fell in love in the dangerous scary way that all falling is. Unsure of what would happen, but unable to stop the process.
Lucky for them the falling has been kind.