If Only (The DESIDERATION OF A RANCHER)

The rose of my heart, the lily of my eyes The glow of my life, the star of my sky. An angel on earth, an incomparable beauty Adoring her forever is my rightful duty. The star that guides me, the hope of my life The dream of my heart, to be my future wife. She's my everything, the one I love so much My life's most precious, with a magic touch. River City is the name of my hometown, the place that moulded my life through years of significant events. I seldom ventured beyond its borders, and it wouldn't be wrong to say it's the pedestal on which my life was shaped. Our town is truly beautiful and pleasant, encircled by mountains that stretch magnificently as far as the eye can see. Stunning rivers and wonderful lakes further enhance its charm, taking one's breath away. Hunting and fishing seasons are also available for those who delight in such pursuits. The perk of living in a thinly populated area is that everyone knows each other well, and we live in a very peaceful atmosphere. I personally relish the stay in this town of ours so much that I often adorn it by calling it "our city." God blessed me with the best parents there can be—Daniel and Anne Holmes—who showered me with love, and under their warm care do I feel at home and contented. Having matured past the carefree days of childhood, I often reflect on the immense care my parents gave me. Of course, what parent on this earth wouldn't love their own children? Yet, while it's true that all parents love their children, I specifically highlight their devotion because I am not their biological son. According to my mother, they found me on their farm when I was about two years old, my clothes caked in mud. After bathing me and changing my clothes, they decided to send me to an orphanage. She once narrated that intense moment to me: "I looked at your innocent, youthful face and saw your smile, which made me decide to adopt you as our own. Nothing prevents you from being our rightful child; we love you as our biological son." I can't remember it myself, but that's what she said. Since they have no other children, it was a blessing in disguise for me. Indeed, my world revolves around them; my faith in being their son is unshakable. I am their son, simply not born of them. There is one girl who unfortunately lost her parents in a car accident at a young age, which compelled her to come to stay with her aunt in our neighbourhood, christened Llana Harris. She stole my heart. Today, she has grown into a lovely, good-natured, and enchanting lady whose beauty shines from within. It's this inner beauty that has truly bewitched me. Being in the same neighbourhood and attending the same school for years meant we talked often, though we were never particularly close. Llana has beautiful clear eyes whose single gaze can make one fall for her. Her face was wide but not round, a perfect match for her wonderful eyes. Rosy red lips complemented her shiny hair and glowing skin. When the wind caught her hair, its glistening movement was a pleasure to behold. That's how I see her, though others may not. She's the one my heart grew fond of in childhood, leading to a secret love she knows nothing about. I've never told her, and I'm good at keeping secrets. Besides, she has a partner, and I'm not the type to bother someone who has found their better half. The idea of losing her by revealing my feelings is simply not something I consider. Once, during school time, as I was about to cross her path, laden with books, I inexplicably stumbled and fell, scattering all the volumes I held close. Llana laughed hesitantly and remarked critically, "Should we call you Eric, or Sherlock Holmes?" Then, smiling, she helped me gather the fallen books. "It's a disease that binds me," I replied, "And I fear it might escalate. People with these symptoms are often nervous and shy around certain people." "Oh, really? What kind of disease is that?" she exclaimed. "Well, I don't remember," I responded. Smiling, she retorted, "I don't buy it. That's just a tall tale; you don't even know how to tell a lie." Then she left me. Her fair amount of chaffing and good-natured banter made my day, and I felt cheery that whole week. Such were the days of childhood in which the trivial tussles of life did not bother us and the things that made us jovial were simple acts. Even though we considered ourselves to be mature enough in such years, now as I look back, I realize how unmellow we were.