Please read the poem by Walt Whitman that's under the title, it goes well with the prologue to this story.
This is my first "angst/romance" fanfic and I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.
To Me, You're an Angel
To a Stranger
"Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you."
I saw him almost every day.
He was a tall, lanky... dark figure that would trudge into the diner I have been working at for a couple of weeks. He would come in, have dinner and leave, always catching my eye than quickly looking away. He would sit in the same table, devour the same three dollar meal, and always gazed at me from the corner of his eye. He consistently looked so hungry and would scarf down his food like he hasn't eaten for days. My stomach burned with fury and worry toward this man that I did not even know. His eyes were exhausted, wretched...reserved, but he always managed a small grin for me. I would politely smile back when he finished his meal and dawdled up to the cashier's register, where I stood, to pay. He was always alone, wearing the same jacket and pants he wore everyday. His head would regularly be covered with the piece of cloth that was attached to his jacket. He would eat in silence, with his head down, always ordering water and never allowing himself to spend the extra dollar that would buy him coffee, even though it was obvious that he needed it, bad. I have a feeling he would kill for a cup, but just couldn't afford it.
The horrible tragedy that haunted my past left my mind scarred and I wondered if I wasn't just imagining this strange man, this man that looks at me and really sees me, not what's behind me. I moved to Chicago a month ago, hoping the change would erase the horrid memories of my mother and father, the way they laid lifeless in front of me and the way my, now ex, boyfriend was holding a gun in his left hand. Hopefully this new city will help me forget any memories of their bodies and the distinct stench of blood that surrounded the room during the day my life shattered into a million pieces.
I glanced at the clock above the "EXIT" sign.
One more hour until I got to see him again.
One more hour until I can forget about my past and watch him eat.
One more hour until I get a smile.
One more hour until he slightly relieves the pain that threatens to end my existence.
I stared at the clock again. Fifty seven minutes left.
I know this is really short, but it's just the prologue. The real chapters will be much longer.
Oh and thanks for reading! =]