Attempted
SS by Ing
I was swept away, with nothing left to say, some helpless fool; I was
lost." The music blared across the room, carrying with it an ache of fond
remembrance. Even the look in his eyes was reminiscent of blue.
His fingers danced across the keyboard with a rhythm that matched his swiftly
beating heart; matching his thoughts. Was he saying the right words; spelling
them out correctly; showing one's thoughts and heart is always a chancy thing.
Usually for him it feels as if he is playing a game; one wrong word could end
it. Too much love could push the One away while too little would starve both him
and the One Love's breath. He inhaled sharply as his eyes caressed his written
words, wishing with his entire being that his fingers could touch the One's
throat, cheek, hand. He felt his mind swim...with memory.
"I love you," whispered hesitantly in the barely lit room. Her shape,
smooth like a ripple of a wave, not quite touching him. His heart, he knew at
that moment, would be forever changed. His eyes focused on what his fingers were
doing, caressing her neck and cheek, willing her to understand the depth of
feeling he had for her. Wishing he could transfer to her how much he loved her.
Change. What is love? he considers now. Loving another means being willing to
change those things within and without ourselves, to accept love over pain. For
Her he was willing to change. Poetry was the smoke-filled air that made his
chest ache; velvet were the sheets that could not house enough warmth on the
chilled night but, somehow, were more than enough to make his arms slick with
the slightest sheen of sweat. The girders that made him were not undone by Her
but by his willingness to accept the healing Love could gift. Such is the
essence of all creation. These are the rules.
The shifting from one song to another brought him to the present smoothly; the
memory brought both pain and acceptance. A strange mixture to cause peace. Back
to the purpose, he demanded himself. He was to write a letter to Her. So far
from him; three hours drive was an eternity and a breath to lovers. He needed
her and wanted her to understand.
So he writes,
"Dear Brit.." No, not correct, he rewrites.
"Dear Brit,
Our time together was too sweet for my memories; I feel them, like in those
silly romance movies we never watched together, filled with background music.
Yes, I can actually remember our times together as if floating in a
song..."
He pauses a long moment, knowing that while the music he speaks of could be
contained in a song by
"Our time together showed me so much about myself. I realized that my own
self esteem was as much an issue as yours; I was confident in myself a year ago.
Strangely, realizing that, makes me feel ready to feel it again. Thank you
."
He shivers with the need to feel her head tucked beneath his shoulder again, her
hand on his chest and her thigh wrapped across his legs. How close she kept him.
But he will not write these things.
"I realize more with each breath..." No, again he has mistaken.
"I grow with each second away from you. You planted a seed in me with your
acceptance and love. Even when you spoke of my flaws, what I was not enough to
you, the seeds were planted. I wonder what luck there is that I know someone who
is willing to learn to love me; I wonder what I have done Right to find you
after all these months of misunderstanding and pain."
He does not add his fears and doubts; does not voice the remnants of self-doubt.
They had talked about that. "You're right. We should be open about what our
hearts need. I don't think I can be one person's property but I think that I can
give myself to one person if he is open and willing to be open with me."
The words he remembered were not exact but were enough to break his pall of
worry. She would be open with him now, as he would with her. Communication; the
first goal.
"I don't know what else to say except; I will look forward to each moment
that passes for I know that each past moment brings me closer to you."
And he signed it.
"Your Love..."