Fiction: Something More
There is nothing as succulent, nor quite so graceful, as this moment, wrapped up in his arms, your head on his chest, listening to his heart, drifting to sleep.
And what a future you have together! What a sense of beauty before you. Graceful because it lives in sweet-nothing whispers. Succulent because it drains only the sweetest dreams worthy.
This moment, it’s delicate, you know. Something so perfect must live on a pinpoint, waiting only for the slightest breeze, the briefest whisper, to tip it to ruin. To keep this feeling forever would mean heaven, but as romantic as you are, you are a realist. So you’ll treasure this moment with unmatched intensity, you’ll hold onto it for as long as you can, and let it go when such time arrives.
Unrequited? You’ve wondered before. But he’s too perfect. He enjoys cuddling with you. And anyway, such thoughts aren’t apropos. This moment is just. It is reasonable to enjoy it without pessimism, without worry.
You run your hand across his stomach, across his broad chest, over his shoulder and down his arm, into his hand that clasps your own and brings yours to his lips.
He wraps your arm around his neck, pulls you up and, his face to yours, brushes your cheek with his thumb. And those eyes, those sparkling blue eyes–so blue you might drown! What a silly notion, you think. Drowning? My dear, you already have.
You want to impress him, and you always have. This will never change. No matter how comfortable with him you become, you will invest–always–your greatest energy into making yourself beautiful for him, and everything around you the same.
The room is dark but for a light from the hall. Tonight’s midnight skies are moonless, and the stars, buried in nighttime city fog.
His cologne is delightful–the constant reminder of him having been here; he’s never far away, even when he isn’t at your side.
And how graceful is it all! And how succulent are his kisses. His nectar.
“I want forever to be with you,” you mention, in his arms, facing him.
“Nothing would make me happier.”
And you kiss until the two of you are tired and Sleep, the damned thing, comes to sweep you away and into an absence of him.
What a funny thing it all was, you’ll one day know. This memory, so full of grace and succulence, all of it fled so quickly. The end of the honeymoon comes too fast.
And it’s nothing all that bad. The memory, the emotions, sparkling though they were, will find their way one day into the vaults of your heart, waiting again for release when you, the romantic, find again a honeymoon, one that turns into something more.
Justin Jones is a columnist for Lavender Magazine, Guy Magazine, and Florida Agenda Newspaper. He writes about things like being alive, being in love, and drinking too much. Facebook.com/JustinJonesWriter.
The beauty of this production is that this new resonance is allowed to develop on its own without drawing attention to itself.September 23, 2016
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