You were walking down the street like an elegant lilly in a long wool coat to prevent the snow from chilling it's contents. Your face was wrapped in a shawl, and all that was visable was a wisp of hair blowing heroicly in the snowbound wind, and those eyes. Those eyes-who could forget those eyes. Those piercing eyes, bounding their way through ice and snow, melting winter into spring with every gaze you met. Those eyes, inviting even the most wonton beggar to the table, offering compassion and care. Those eyes melted me down from miles away, yet I had no idea what made me so warm on this hard winter's day.
Your hands were full of packages neatly wrapped, and the bags from Macy's and The 4 seasons were overflowing with the gift you purchased with all the thought and care that a friend could bring.
A sweet little sailor's suit for the little one, a french press for your father(so only he could have 40-bean cups of coffee) and even something for yourself, because somebody will for sure forget that even the most beautiful woman needs a little perfume to make her day.
But even with this love and care from you, Ice that forms on the street knows not from the lovely and the wicked. Under the slick of the ice, your shoe failed, and you fell.Packages here, packages there, and you lying on the ground, the snow falling on your shape.
I happened to be leaving a difficult meeting over an even more very difficult client. I had parked as close as possible, but I needed to cross the street to get to my car, wanting only a fast getaway-today was rough, and I retreat into myself on days like today. But my visage was met by the sight of a well dressed woman on the ground and the look of Christmas everywhere. I stumbled across the street, and it was then that I saw those eyes.
At first I was taken aback, because all that I saw were those eyes, and then a voice that said, "I think that I twisted by ankle". I saw this beauty, this warm among the cold, and just knew. I offered her to grab onto my neck, and I pulled her up and helped her collect her bags. We hobbled across the snow and barely escaped into a doorway before a snowplow scraped the ground where only a few minuites earlier, an icy fall was offered.
I opened the door to this building with one hand, with her hand over my shoulder and we drug ourselves into the warm lobby. It was then that the wrap of a shawl was removed from your face, that face that however twisted from pain, was as soft as an angel and sweet as mint. And I knew, from this day forth, my life would never be the same again.
Does this sound about right?