“Let us always meet each other with a smile, for a smile is the beginning of love”
There I was, working my medial and stupid job. Sitting around for hours, after working too hard for the little I got paid. When she walked in.
Most people, even those I had to work with, said hello and walked on. They walked on to whatever they had to do there, or whatever they wanted to do. But she didn’t. She didn’t even ask me what all this crap was doing in the lobby of her office. She just found a rickety old chair and sat down. She sat down and talked to me. She didn’t give me her name, or asked for mine. We just talked, for what seemed like hours, about trivial things that were of no real importance to either.
It was only after she walked up the stairs to get something from her office that I dared to pause, take a breath and think. She had told me just enough to do a stupid Internet search. By the time she got back downstairs to leave, I had not yet figured out who she was. She offered me a piece of her food, which I had to deny because I felt dumbfounded by the mere gesture. And then she left, leaving me, and the hole that I was unaware of.
There I stood, feeling like a blinded man who was given back his sight. Up until that point in my life I had met statesmen and royalty, poets and artists. I had seen brilliance and beauty; I had felt unconditional happiness and world-ending sadness. But not until that moment I realized there was one thing missing in my life: Perfection.
There it was, walking away from me. And as she waved casually, there came the realization. The undeniable truth, that even if I never saw her again I knew: This was the thing my heroes wrote about. This was the woman they tried to explain to me. This was the peace they strode to find and the one I got a glimpse that day. That medial but sunny day in May.