Albert Culmond was five foot seven. Albert Culmond was ambidextrous; he drew with his left hand, did math with his right, wrote with his left, ate with his right. Albert Culmond loved astronomy, and liked to imagine that he, too, would one be a star in the not-so-distant sky. Albert Culmond only watched people through a lens, even though he was pretty sure he could figure out what he didn't quite know. Albert Culmond was seventeen, but his voice sounded as though he were twenty-three and his soul communicated as though he were two-hundred. Albert Culmond liked to think, even though he knew that it wasn't enough to actually to get anything done. Albert Culmond didn't brush his teeth anymore, but he still ran his tongue over them as though that would make a difference. Albert Culmond was dead. Albert Culmond was in love with a girl.
Albert Culmond loved her despite her eating her bananas wrong, she didn't pinch the top and slightly peel, she tore and destroyed, but that separated her from the beasts. Albert Culmond loved the ways her eyes shone when she found something amusing, and how she wouldn't always laugh, she would sometimes just smile and smirk in someone's direction if someone were around and cared enough to see it. Albert Culmond noticed the patchwork freckles on her neck, and how they seemed to make some sort of pattern that was probably transcribed along his bones, somewhere. Albert Culmond appreciated the way she never did exactly as the people around her told her to do, she would question, and comment, and pester until she was finally satisfied enough that she had done it her way and that was the way it was meant to be done in the first place. Albert Culmond smiled at the way that she scared to get glasses despite looking beautiful with them, that she often hid her smile despite it not needing to be hidden, that she was the most beautiful thing in the world and she wouldn't dare believe it. Albert Culmond knew that he could not speak to her, but speaking is not the only way to communicate, anyway.
Albert Culmond made her believe not in ghosts, but in guardian angels. Albert Culmond made her notice the small intricacies of life, how it only seemed to rain when she was inside. Albert Culmond was pulling strings, playing the game of life like a violin solo in front of a love-struck admirer. Albert Culmond knew that she would never notice him, that she would never believe that he was there, that her brain and body and soul would only attempt to rationalize all of this, that she just had good luck. Albert Culmond knew that he was hopelessly in love with someone that he would never touch, or kiss, or speak to. Albert Culmond would watch her meander through her day, bringing more joy to people than she would ever know. Albert Culmond watched her fall in love with someone else, watched them share glances and loving silences. Albert Culmond watched them bake together, and cuddle during movies, and hold hands without seeming too happy, lest the other person actually know the joys of the human heart. Albert Culmond watched it thrive, die, and revive again. Albert Culmond continued pulling strings, and watching his love slip away from him while he watched from the sidelines. Albert Culmond watched the proposal, watched the tears brim in the eyes of his one true love. Albert Culmond watched as their souls entwined together, the tendrils of it mingling and spreading, seeping out into the world.
Albert Culmond smiled.
