Romance 9
I sit on the sofa, her body resting against mine, her eyes closed as I slowly stroke her hair. The movie has been over for an hour, and we haven't said more than ten words since. I don't know if she's asleep. I'm tempted to sleep myself, but as I doubt no dream could compare, I stay awake, gazing into the darkness, just... feeling.
This might be what I love the most. About relationships, I mean. The quiet moments, when you've nothing to say, and it doesn't matter at all. When you're... connected, and you just lie there and feel. And think. Of pasts and futures and everything under the moon outside, glimmering through the window, ever so softly. And you think of losing her and hold her closer. And you think of the wonderful tomorrows you have planned and sigh, still so softly. And you think of just anything and everything and nothing because it doesn't matter what you think but what you feel, that clairvoyance of spirit that lets you soar without moving anything but your hand, ever so slowly, along her head, resting against you, a weight that carries you higher than you could ever hope to go alone.
And I don't want it to end. I never want it to end. Why would you sleep? Why, when there are still hours, days until she has to go, so long before she leaves your arms, pulled away, torn away like flesh, leaving nothing but another gaping hole. But that moment is so far. So far away as to make this moment all the more bliss. To make this moment as good as a forever.
All I can think is that I love her. Because she's lovely, because she's beautiful, because she's here, in my arms, out of all the arms in the world, she's here, this beautiful person, this lovely, enchanting, unbelievable person who chose me, chose my arms, my hands, my love, my self. Of all the world, my self! And I feel as if I am at my apex, as if I can go no higher in esteem, no higher in life than at this moment. I feel as if I am no longer alone, as if I was never alone and never will be alone again. All of this I feel, in a vibrant flux of soul that need not burst through my chest, for it flows, it flies, it transcends, it fills creation, for I finally feel at one, finally feel free, finally feel loved! All of this I feel. But the only thing I think, the only thought within my mind is that I love her.
But slowly, ever so slowly, I start to think of more. Start to doubt. Start to wonder if I am loved. If I am free. If I am a delusional, gullible, contemptible romantic, a dependent, sniveling cretin, undeserving of a love, undesiring of a love that cannot do but hurt, cannot be needed but will paralyze my self, trap my self within a cardiovascular cage, a trap I won't realize until the door clangs shut, until it's too late, until-
“What's wrong?”
“Oh, I thought you were asleep.”
“Now why would I want to do a silly thing like that?”
“Preacher, meet choir.”
“So. What's wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your hand stopped. And you tensed up.”
“Oh, sorry. I guess I zoned out. Thinking too much.”
She sits up.
“Want to talk about it?”
“It's nothing, really. I'm fine.”
“You're sure...”
Skepticism bristles in her eyes.
“Yeah. I'm fine.”
I know she doesn't believe me. God, she doesn't believe me! Please don't make her go, plea-
“Well, in that case, I guess you won't mind if we go to bed.”
“Oh, I... yeah. That'd be alright.”
I get up and walk towards the bathroom.
“Where are you going?”
“To brush my teeth. So we can go to sleep.”
“Who said anything about sleep?”
A mischievous grin hides her concern, her worry that invades her voice, her face, her mouth, her eyes.
“I really am tired, I don't think-”
“We don't have to do anything. I love you. I just want to be with you.”
And she smiles and walks over to me and ever so softly, ever so slowly, kisses me.
And there's silence. Silence, until, since I can do no more, I whisper,
“Do you always know the right thing to say?”
“You mean this?”
She kisses me again, longer, harder as my arms reach around her and pull her closer.
"Or I love you?
“Yeah... that...”
Relief floods forth, and she pretends as if-
“As if there was anything else to say.”
My grin becomes a smile.
“I love you, too.”
We kiss again, and as we do, all I can think of is the one thought, the only thought that ever mattered.
This might be what I love the most. About relationships, I mean. The quiet moments, when you've nothing to say, and it doesn't matter at all. When you're... connected, and you just lie there and feel. And think. Of pasts and futures and everything under the moon outside, glimmering through the window, ever so softly. And you think of losing her and hold her closer. And you think of the wonderful tomorrows you have planned and sigh, still so softly. And you think of just anything and everything and nothing because it doesn't matter what you think but what you feel, that clairvoyance of spirit that lets you soar without moving anything but your hand, ever so slowly, along her head, resting against you, a weight that carries you higher than you could ever hope to go alone.
And I don't want it to end. I never want it to end. Why would you sleep? Why, when there are still hours, days until she has to go, so long before she leaves your arms, pulled away, torn away like flesh, leaving nothing but another gaping hole. But that moment is so far. So far away as to make this moment all the more bliss. To make this moment as good as a forever.
All I can think is that I love her. Because she's lovely, because she's beautiful, because she's here, in my arms, out of all the arms in the world, she's here, this beautiful person, this lovely, enchanting, unbelievable person who chose me, chose my arms, my hands, my love, my self. Of all the world, my self! And I feel as if I am at my apex, as if I can go no higher in esteem, no higher in life than at this moment. I feel as if I am no longer alone, as if I was never alone and never will be alone again. All of this I feel, in a vibrant flux of soul that need not burst through my chest, for it flows, it flies, it transcends, it fills creation, for I finally feel at one, finally feel free, finally feel loved! All of this I feel. But the only thing I think, the only thought within my mind is that I love her.
But slowly, ever so slowly, I start to think of more. Start to doubt. Start to wonder if I am loved. If I am free. If I am a delusional, gullible, contemptible romantic, a dependent, sniveling cretin, undeserving of a love, undesiring of a love that cannot do but hurt, cannot be needed but will paralyze my self, trap my self within a cardiovascular cage, a trap I won't realize until the door clangs shut, until it's too late, until-
“What's wrong?”
“Oh, I thought you were asleep.”
“Now why would I want to do a silly thing like that?”
“Preacher, meet choir.”
“So. What's wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your hand stopped. And you tensed up.”
“Oh, sorry. I guess I zoned out. Thinking too much.”
She sits up.
“Want to talk about it?”
“It's nothing, really. I'm fine.”
“You're sure...”
Skepticism bristles in her eyes.
“Yeah. I'm fine.”
I know she doesn't believe me. God, she doesn't believe me! Please don't make her go, plea-
“Well, in that case, I guess you won't mind if we go to bed.”
“Oh, I... yeah. That'd be alright.”
I get up and walk towards the bathroom.
“Where are you going?”
“To brush my teeth. So we can go to sleep.”
“Who said anything about sleep?”
A mischievous grin hides her concern, her worry that invades her voice, her face, her mouth, her eyes.
“I really am tired, I don't think-”
“We don't have to do anything. I love you. I just want to be with you.”
And she smiles and walks over to me and ever so softly, ever so slowly, kisses me.
And there's silence. Silence, until, since I can do no more, I whisper,
“Do you always know the right thing to say?”
“You mean this?”
She kisses me again, longer, harder as my arms reach around her and pull her closer.
"Or I love you?
“Yeah... that...”
Relief floods forth, and she pretends as if-
“As if there was anything else to say.”
My grin becomes a smile.
“I love you, too.”
We kiss again, and as we do, all I can think of is the one thought, the only thought that ever mattered.
posted by Ophelia at 3:43 AM
1 Comments:
Je l'aime. It's in want of a little less repetition, but the sound of it, the lyricism, is wonderfully done. And it is a beautiful synopsis of a moment. Not too much detail to make it boring with intricate details and wandering thoughts. A well done balance.
I miss you, Dylan. I'll be home soon, and we'll go for a movie or something.
~Elizabeth E.
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