Most Shared

Love

Love lake: when hope is free

By Jane HaglApril 27, 2017

Love lake
Love lake Jane Hagl

“Te Amo princessa!!!”

“I love my princess” with three exclamation marks precisely a hair length apart. Some young lover had scrawled his sweet-nothing with a dull pocketknife into the post an eroded pier. It was in haste. He had started with a capital “T” and a capital “A” but forgot to capitalize the “P”.

The majesty of the endless water blending into the starry night sky might have distracted him.  Or more likely, it was the combination of her eyes and his youthful infatuation. They were young —oh so young. Everything in life was unadulterated. It hadn’t been tainted by the mundaneness of responsibility or the cruelty of growing up.

How else could you explain the lopsided heart encircling their names, “Nager y Adele?”

Nager, or maybe it was Adele, tried unsuccessfully to fill the etchings of their name with a fine-point permanent marker. The first few letters of each name were done adequately and the ampersand. But the “er” was overtly sloppy, the black ink jumping in and out of the lines. “Ele” need a little more attention and ink. But that does not really matter, does it?

A fine-point sharpie and a pier overlooking a lake where the love abounds. That is all the perspective two teens need. With nothing to fill the view, it was easy to forget in a few years, life would fill with the plainness of the every day. At beginning of life, hope is free. It comes without the bittersweet tinge of expectations. How typical of youth— to hope without fear of loss.

“Siempre.”

There is barely enough black ink for the first four letters of the everlasting statement.

“3–23–16"

The date is the only thing he wrote straight. Nager, I assume, wrote it a little larger, with each number taking a precisely the same amount of space in his lopsided heart. He took writing the beginning of forever seriously enough to patiently carve out the commemorative date perfectly. Perhaps, after he finished his inscription of his love’s beginning, he rubbed away the hanging splinters and smoothed the wood down with his thumb and forefinger. The presentation is key. After all, what a love appears to be can tell you much about what it is in reality.

But little did he know forever changes with each passing tide. And all there was to hope for was that his love did not wash away, too.