Lars and the Real Girl
She likes chocolate chip cookies first thing in the morning, the sound of the ocean on a cool, breezy day, walks in blankets of fluffy, white snow.
I look into her sparkly green eyes and nothing really matters anymore. The world isn't so bad as it was a second ago. The world almost dissolves entirely. I look into her eyes and almost instantly, everything is ok.
I'm almost afraid I might crush her in an embrace one day. Lift her in my arms and hold on too tightly. She is almost invincible, a pillar of strength - and yet, she is the frailest person I've ever met. So fragile, and yet so strong.
I read innocence and unwavering trust in her expression. She has never had any reason to doubt anyone. She has never been hurt. Betrayed.
She whispers a hundred silent thank yous, ever grateful that I pulled her out of the wreckage so long ago. I don't tell her it was her who saved me from the ruins of my life, from shambles of an existence.
I may be in the middle of nowhere, a million miles from any hint of civilization… but, when I'm with her, I'm home.
Her hair is the color of flamingoes, of the cherries on the ice cream she loves so much, of cotton candy, of soft lips and wild flowers. The waves cascading around her face, the ringlets that fall so gently down her back are the perfect shade of pink - the color of happiness, of my own joy.
She asked me once if she was real. If cold metal and unforgiving steel could fuse to forge a real human being. I gently traced circles into the palm of her hand.
She is more genuine than most people out there can even dream of being.
She can taste, and laugh, and feel, and love.
My heart, my happiness, my every reality - Alisa.