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wanderingsoul
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In Eternity Our Souls Entwine
I stepped off the elevator into the lobby. The bright lights assaulted my senses. My head ached. No amount of ibuprofen seemed to help. But I was almost becoming used to it these days. And I had better drugs if I wanted to use them.
I looked around. It had been a long time since I had been here. My job didn’t take me out of town much anymore. Which was good, in a way. Sarah and Jess were at that age when a father really needed to be around. And Joanne seemed to want me around more and more these days. That was ok, I guessed. We had been drifting apart for years. Had even separated for a time. But things were back to some semblance of a status quo between us. Amazing how the oddest things seemed to change the direction of people’s lives. Sometimes for the better, sometimes not.
How many years had it been? Twelve? Thirteen? Not since I had been to this hotel, though. I had been here three years ago, or was it four? I didn’t ****ing know. My memory was **** these days. Man! Memory loss and headaches that made me want to tear my eyes from my head sometimes. My life was good, no question about it.
I sighed, suddenly filled with a sense of nostalgia and longing—and uncertainty. What was I being nostalgic over? A memory? A dream? A fantasy? An hallucination? It had seemed so real at the time. But that was hallucinations for you. They could be so real, could convince every corner of your mind that they were real—so real that you could smell, feel, taste them. They could be more real than reality sometimes. And maybe I should get out my thesaurus and look up another word for “real”! I laughed at myself. I was an anal retentive writer right to the core. I even critiqued my own thoughts for style.
But the reality (ok, a variation on the word at least!) was that it could just as easily have been an hallucination as a memory. But right now it seemed a memory and one so incredibly strong that I could smell his hair, could taste his skin. But, then, I’d had dreams like that before, too. Dreams where I was making love to someone—no, not just making love to someone, but LOVING someone—not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually. And I could see those eyes--those wonderful eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a clichéd green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And I wanted never to look away from those eyes, wanted never to wake up. But I always did. And I would often wake up with tears soaking my pillow, sobs racking my body. And I would lie there, afraid to open my eyes, afraid I wouldn’t remember, afraid I would never see those eyes again.
I gave myself a mental shake. It was so easy to get lost even in the memory of those dreams. As easy as it was to get lost in the memory of him. I closed my eyes for a moment, shutting out the bright lights of the lobby, at the same time trying to shut in the images of him that were flashing through my head. I leaned against the wall between the elevators. The images were flashing—literally flashing, like an old reel-to-reel movie that had been broken and pieced back together, and I felt a vague sense of unreality, of detachment.
I sighed. Maybe it had been a hallucination after all. My head swam a little and I wished I had taken the “better drugs” that I had—and I cursed the thing in my head that was taking my certainty from me, that was making me doubt my own reality.
“Are you all right?” The voice was followed by a light touch on my arm. I nearly jumped from the electricity of it—but at the same time, my entire body froze. My breath caught in my throat and my heart nearly stopped. I wanted to open my eyes, to see who was behind that voice that was so achingly familiar to my ears, to see who was attached to that touch that was setting my nerve endings on fire. But I was afraid. No, “afraid” was the wrong word. I was terrified. I was terrified that when I opened my eyes I would find myself awakening from a dream—and he would be gone. And I was terrified that when I opened my eyes I would find I was imagining the familiarity, losing myself in a fantasy that would end in that moment—and that voice and that touch would belong to a stranger.
I felt that light touch turn to a gentle caress, felt his hand slowly run over my forearm, his thumb and fingers caressing my skin gently. I sighed and felt myself drifting into that caress. And against all instinct, against any vestigial feeling of better judgement that I had, I opened my eyes.
I looked up and found myself looking into his eyes. They were definitely green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green almost going to blue, but not quite. I caught my breath. I knew those eyes. Knew them as if they were my own. I had seen them so many times, gazed into them so many times, fallen into them so many times…
He smiled, a crooked little smile. “Isn’t this where I came in?”
“Andrew…” I whispered his name, my breath barely forming sound.
His smile deepened into that boyish grin I remembered so well. “David.” He said the name softly and my stomach fluttered at the sound of my name on his lips.
He ran his fingers lightly across my left brow, down over my left temple. He remembered, remembered the exact place. “Still get the same headaches?”
His fingers were gentle, soothing as they stroked my head. I closed my eyes briefly, and I could feel a smile forming on my lips, a contented smile, a smile filled with peace. I opened my eyes again.
I reached out and touched his hair. It was still like gold, but a darker gold, like a gold coin that had been handled by many fingers, that had picked up the stains of time. I felt a stab of jealousy. How many fingers had felt those cool, silk-like strands slide through them.
My eyes instinctively went to his left hand. There was no ring, but what did that really mean these days? I hadn’t worn mine in years. I had never put it back on after Joanne and I had separated for a time.
Then I realized what I was doing. I hadn’t seen him in 12 (or was it 13?) years. We had made love one time. That hardly entitled me to feel even the slightest whisper of jealousy. Besides, I was the one who had told him I was married, that I was happy enough. I shook my head, and was rewarded by a blinding flash of light and a sharp stab of pain behind my eyes.
His hands were on my shoulders instantly, steadying me. “I’m assuming the shake of the head was NOT in answer to my question then.” His voice was soft in my ear, and I realized he was standing very close to me, his chest pressing against mine, his hands pulling me closer still.
I caught my breath and I felt like my heart was going to explode right from my chest, it was beating so hard and so fast. I wanted nothing more than to put my arms around him and just get lost in him. But instead I pressed my hands against the wall behind me. I needed to feel something that was incontrovertibly real.
“Let me take you back to your room.” I could hear the concern in his voice.
“No, I’m ok.” I could hear the haste in my voice, it was almost panic. But that wasn’t what I meant, wasn’t what I felt…was it?
He let go of me, pulled away and I felt cold. I didn’t like the sudden feeling of separation from him. It felt as wrong as his closeness had felt right. I could feel myself frown. I opened my eyes, half expecting to be assailed by another blinding stab of pain. But I felt only a slight swimming of my senses—and that could have been as much from his proximity as from the thing in my head.
He looked at me, his eyes searching mine as if they were searching my soul, reaching inside me, looking for something beyond the surface. “Are you sure?”
Sure about what? That I didn’t want him to take me back to my room? Or that I was ok? But either question had the same answer.
I nodded. “I’m sure.”
But still he searched my eyes, as if he sought to find the true answer in my eyes, as if my words were not enough. I met his gaze squarely. It took every ounce of a strength I really didn’t have to not look away. I knew he could read my soul, he always knew what I was thinking, what I was feeling. But I didn’t want him to know, not now. But I could no more look away this time than any time before.
Damn ****ing fate! Why was he here? Why was I here? Why were we both here together, again? What were the fates hoping would be gained by having us meet only to part again? Because we would part, that was certain. Even if I didn’t have my wife and my daughters, I would walk out the door without him at the end of the day. I had to. There was just no way I could put him through this. I knew what it was like to watch my lover die, to hold him in my arms as life slipped slowly away from him, to watch the light leave those eyes… I brought myself up short. What the hell was that?
He smiled, and it was a slightly sad smile, but one of complete comprehension. Had I expected less? He had always seemed to be able to look into my eyes and understand everything behind them. “Then let’s have breakfast.”
**
The breakfast was a buffet and we were standing next to each other in line. He was helping himself to several pieces of the fresh fruit and half of a plain bagel. I smiled. Healthy eating habits. I stole a glance at him. They showed. He looked fit and not much older than the last time I saw him. I reached for several pieces of bacon, a few spoonfuls of scrambled eggs and some toast. Healthy eating habits… I had them, had them for years. Had paid careful attention to everything that passed through my lips, had worked out daily, had really made an effort to keep time—and genetics at bay. But it didn’t really matter now. I grabbed a couple strawberries, my concession to healthy eating.
As we sat down I caught him looking at my plate, a small smile playing about his lips. I laughed suddenly. He could read my mind, but I could also read his. “Shut up and eat your fruit!” I laughed and made a point of taking a big bite of bacon.
He laughed and the sound went straight through my body. It was a deep, hearty laugh filled with the joy of life. I winced inwardly as I thought of that life that would go on.
His eyes flickered and I wondered if I had let that show. But he just smiled. “I’ve read your books, you know.”
I paused in mid bite, my face breaking into a grin that must have made me look a bit like the Village Idiot. “You have?” The Village Idiot responded stupidly.
He smiled and reached over and stole a piece of bacon from my plate. “Did you think I wouldn’t?” He tapped me on the nose with the bacon before devouring it with one bite.
What had I thought? I suppose he would have. I would have. If he had been a writer, I would have searched every corner of the earth for every word he had ever written, right down to his grocery lists. But somehow I hadn’t expected that. And I had never told him my last name…
He reached out and I thought he was going for another piece of my bacon, but instead he traced the line of my cheek with one finger. “I’d be a poor detective if I couldn’t find the last name of the other half of my soul.” His voice was soft, deeper than it had been—but 12 (or was it 13?) years would do that. He had been what, maybe 18 or 19 then? If that. But it wasn’t his voice that brought the tears stinging to the back of my eyes, and it wasn’t that he had read the very thoughts in my head. It was his words: “…the other half of my soul.”
I blinked them back hurriedly and dropped my fork—a good quick excuse to look away. As I reached down to retrieve it, I felt his hand on my arm.
“Leave it, David. Someone will get it.”
Did he know that bending over sent the blood rushing to my head, set off the blinding flashes behind my eyes? What had he seen when he looked into my eyes? He knew my thoughts, he knew my last name… he was a detective. What else had he detected?
But I left it and slowly sat back up straight. I hadn’t even leaned down that far, but my head swam. But again, that could have been as much from the touch of his hand on my arm as from the thing in my head.
I closed my eyes. I felt him run his hand slowly over my forearm, his thumb and fingers caressing my skin gently. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It came out as a deep sigh. His touch was always such a paradox. It set every nerve ending in my body on fire, made my senses swim—but at the same time it filled me with a deep sense of peace.
After a moment, I opened my eyes and saw him watching me, smiling, one dark brow raised slightly, as if in question. They were still much darker than his hair, his brows. Still a bit incongruous. I reached out impulsively and ran my fingers over each one. My eyes met his. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a clichéd green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. He never looked away as he gestured for the waiter to bring the check. I brushed my thumb over his lips. They were still so soft, like the petal of a rose. He took my thumb between those incredibly soft lips and I felt his tongue brush against my skin. He never let go of my thumb as he glanced down briefly to sign the check.
He took my hand in his and kissed each finger before pressing his lips against my palm. It was a very tender, very sensual gesture and it sent a slow ripple of warmth through my body. “I’ve missed you, David.” His breathed the words against my skin and the ripple of warmth became a wave of heat.
He stood up, still holding my hand. His eyes found mine again. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And they never left mine as I stood up. They never left mine as he led me to the elevator. They never left mine as he led me to his room.
**
He smiled at me as he shut the door. It was a slow smile, a smile that acknowledged memories. He traced the line of my cheek with one finger as he brushed his other hand through my hair. “You look just as I see you every night in my dreams.”
I laughed and moved away a little. It was a self-conscious laugh. I knew I had changed in the (or was it 13?) years since we had last seen each other. I had been 27 then. I had just turned 40. With the best genetics in the world—which I did NOT have—40 wasn’t 27. I didn’t look…old, precisely. My hair had a few grays in it, but not enough to notice unless the light caught them just right. And I had shaved off the mustache I had worn for years—because unlike my hair, IT had enough gray to notice.
But when I looked in the mirror I saw 40, not 27. I saw the lines around my eyes—laughingly called laugh lines by some demented bastard. They were nothing to laugh about. And I saw the change in tone in my skin—it was somehow more pale but at the same time a little darker. But in any case, it didn’t shine with the pink of health as it had at 27. And when I smiled, there were creases that appeared around my mouth that had never been there at 27. Oh, I wasn’t so vain that I stared in the mirror all day and bemoaned the passage of time—but I had to acknowledge it. I was still considered attractive by some—by a lot of my female readers, actually, but time had left its fingerprints on my face—and the rest of my body. And I would be a fool to think otherwise.
He, on the other hand, could have spent at least the last 10 years in a time warp. Except for the burnishing of his gold hair, he really hadn’t changed much.
He was watching me and I noticed that smile had changed into that boyish grin that had gone straight through me the first time I saw it. I realized why. I had been staring at him. I had let my eyes travel over every inch of him, a slow, lingering journey. I felt myself blush. GOD! I was fairly certain I hadn’t blushed in YEARS! Probably not since I had been the same age as he had been back then.
He laughed. But it wasn’t that hearty laugh, that laugh filled with the joy of life. Instead, it was a chuckle, soft and deep in his voice. It made me think of soft laughter against a pillow—and it made all my nerve endings prickle.
He closed the distance between us, that distance I had put there with my self-conscious sense of time. His smile faded a little and he raised one hand and ran his fingers over my forehead, just above my left eyebrow, and down to my temple. His fingers lingered there, gently massaging my skin and I felt the pain in my head lessen. It didn’t go away. Even the “good drugs” didn’t take it completely away—not unless I took enough of them to make myself unconscious. But his touch was soothing. It quieted the pain in my head. He pressed the palm of his other hand against my cheek and brushed his thumb lightly over my lips.
My eyes met his. I could feel my heart beating, could feel the blood rushing through my veins, could feel my pulse pounding in my ears. I felt light-headed, almost dizzy, but I didn’t look away from his eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green almost going to blue, but not quite. I never had been able to look away from those eyes. I had never wanted to. They were my anchor, they held me steady, kept me from falling, kept me from letting go.
I reached up and ran my fingers over his dark brows and around the outside of his eyes. I couldn’t look away. I was mesmerized by those eyes. And I felt the years fall away, one by one. And he was kissing me the first time. It was a long, slow kiss. It felt tentative, his lips barely touching mine, brushing softly over my lips like the gentle caress of a butterfly’s wings. His fingers slipped into my hair, and I could feel him playing with the strands, sliding them slowly through his fingers. I felt a ripple of heat pass through my entire body. But this time it wasn’t an unexpected response. This time it felt familiar, natural, anticipated—as if I had been waiting to feel like this again for a long time, 12 (or was it 13?) years.
My lips parted slightly, and he slipped his tongue in between my lips and into my mouth, sliding his tongue sensually along mine. I returned his kiss, my lips brushing his, my tongue rubbing against his. My fingers tangled in his hair and I pulled him closer to me, pressing my body against his. A deep groan rose from his throat and vibrated against my lips. His fingers tightened in my hair and one hand slipped down my back, pulling me hard against him. His tenderness turned to passion as he thrust his tongue hard against mine, and I answered his passion with my own. My hands slipped from his hair and I ran them slowly down over his shoulders, down his arms, down his sides. My hands burned where they touched his skin.
His mouth left mine and found my neck, right where it met my shoulder. I moaned, and my hands slipped down to his hips and held him tightly as I pressed against him. I could feel the hard outline of his erection pressing against mine. My hands gripped him tighter and another moan slipped through my lips and I rubbed myself hungrily against him, feeling the heat of him right through our clothing, wanting to burn in that heat.
His tongue traced little circles on my skin as his lips moved slowly over my neck. Both his hands were on my ass now, rubbing me, creating a heat that was as urgent as it was hot. He ground himself hard against me, and I felt his breath burn my skin as he groaned my name “David…” He looked into my eyes and I saw the hunger in them. There were no questions in his eyes, no tentative searching. I could feel his breath quicken, could almost feel his pulse racing to catch up with mine.
There would be none of the slow sense of discovery that had been there the first time. That had long since left us both. The years of half-remembered dreams, of clinging to a brief taste of eternity had replaced it with a want and a need that was hot and urgent.
I felt locked in his gaze, I couldn’t look away from those eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green almost going to blue, but not quite. And as I looked into them, time itself slipped away. I no longer felt like David. He no longer felt like Andrew. We weren’t two people with names and faces, we were two souls hungering to be one.
And the hunger consumed us both. He turned me around and pushed me roughly down onto the bed. There was no gentleness in his touch as he reached beneath me to undo my pants, his hands brushing against my swollen **** as he practically tore them from me. There was no gentleness in his hands as he pushed my thighs apart and knelt between them. I heard the zipper of his pants and a shiver ran through me as I realized his desire for me was so hot he hadn’t even taken the time to undress. I arched my back instinctively, raising my ass to him. “Andrew…” My soft, plaintive whisper told him I wanted him as much as he wanted me.
He positioned himself to enter me and I felt him hesitate. He ran his hands over my back, and I felt the same tenderness in his touch I had felt the first time. And I knew what he was thinking. He had been the first man I had ever been with. I was married then, still was. He had no reason to think I had ever been with another man. Had no reason to think I had ever had a man inside me. And I hadn’t. But that didn’t matter. I wanted him, wanted him to know I belonged to him, wanted him to know I had always belonged to him and him alone—heart, soul and body.
I reached behind me and ran my hand over his ass, slowly, my fingers kneading into the firm flesh. “Andrew, please…” I whispered softly, pulling him towards me.
He groaned, a groan that was deep in his throat, more like a growl than a groan, and pushed himself inside me. I tensed as he slowly filled me with his hardness and he groaned again. I could feel him holding back, feel him still hesitating. But I didn’t want that. I almost whimpered as he slowly pulled himself almost completely from me.
“Andrew…” I moaned his name, and even I could hear the pleading in my voice.
“Oh, God, David!” His voice was harsh, and I heard the ache in him, the need in him—and I felt it as he plunged himself fully into me, nothing held back this time.
I gasped, my breath forced from my lungs from the sharp rush of pain that assailed my body. His fingers gripped my hips, digging into my flesh as he thrust into me, each thrust deep and hard, each thrust sending a light show of stars behind my eyes. I heard my voice—it had to be my voice, though I had no sense of speaking—calling out his name, begging him to thrust harder, begging him to never stop.
My fingers gripped the bedspread and I could feel my nails tearing into the threads. My body shook, every muscle in my body trembling—as much from pleasure as from pain. The light show intensified and I wondered briefly if I would die from this. But I didn’t care. All I cared about was him, all I cared about was feeling him inside me, connected to me, part of me.
I heard his voice crying out my name, heard the passion in the words of love that fell harshly from his lips as I felt his pace increasing, felt his body tensing, felt him shudder as he came deep inside of me. And I felt the tension leaving my body, and I realized with a slight sense of surprise that I had come as well.
He slowly let his body rest on mine, making sure our bodies touched as completely as possible. And I sensed it was his way of completing the connection between us, his way of acknowledging that we were well and truly one heart, one body, one soul. He kissed the back of my neck lightly, his breath hot and fast against my skin.
Then he raised himself from me and I felt a chill surround my body as a sense of finality ran over like a river of ice. It was done, over and done. He would rise; I would rise. We would fix our clothing. He would smile slightly, a sad smile of understanding. I would kiss him, my lips lingering over his, my fingers tangling in his hair, my breath catching in my throat, and I would walk out the door as silently as I had 12 (or was it 13?) years ago.
And I would never see him again. That was certain this time. There would be no hopes, no dreams, no fantasies of one more time…
I pressed my face against the bedspread and felt the tears falling uncontrollably from my eyes. His breathing was still quick, panting, and I felt his hair damp with sweat as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, coaxing my head to rest on his shoulder, his fingers stroking my hair. The tears would not stop, and deep sobs racked my body. I had a vague sense of him removing my shirt and realized he had removed his when I felt our skin touch. I clung tightly to him, wanting to feel his skin against mine, wanting my skin to fuse with his, wanting to become part of him, to be absorbed by him. Had he sensed that? Had he sensed my desperate need to feel him, to connect to him? Or had he felt that need also?
I didn’t know. All I knew was that I didn’t’ want to ever leave him, didn’t want to ever feel that icy cold of separation again. He was the other half of my soul, he was the beat of my heart, he drove the blood through my veins, the breath through my lungs. And I kept losing him, over and over and over I kept losing him. I didn’t want to ever lose him again.
I didn’t realize I had spoken the words that had raced panic-stricken through my head until he spoke. “You’ll never lose me, babe.” His lips were pressed against my hair, his hands rubbing my back gently. And he repeated the words he had said to me the first time. “We are two halves of one whole. We are destined to be together, David, if not in this life then the next, or the next. But we will always be together. In our dreams our lips brush. In eternity, our souls entwine.”
And I felt the truth in those words, felt it wrap around me and hold me as tightly and as safely as his arms.
**
I leaned back against the pillows, closing my eyes, shutting out the light that sent pain shooting through my head—despite the drugs that were being dripped into my veins. I felt myself starting to drift.
I opened my eyes and saw him watching me, smiling, one dark brow raised slightly, as if in question. They were still much darker than his hair, his brows. Still a bit incongruous. I reached out impulsively and ran my fingers over each one. My eyes met his. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a clichéd green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I brushed my thumb over his lips. They were still so soft, like the petal of a rose. He took my thumb between those incredibly soft lips and I felt his tongue brush against my skin.
He took my hand in his and kissed each finger before pressing his lips against my palm. It was a very tender, very sensual gesture and it sent a slow ripple of warmth through my body. “I’ve missed you, David…”
“David…”
I opened my eyes. It was Joanne. “I brought you the paper. Sarah’s picture is in it. They did a whole page on the top graduating seniors from across the region.”
Her face beamed with pride. Sarah was her favorite, just as Jess was mine. But Sarah was more like me. She had been a writer since before she could write, always weaving worlds around her imaginary friends, telling stories to her dolls. Her graduation had been last Saturday. She had made valedictorian of her class, had graduated with a straight 4.0. I had wanted to be there. But the thing in my head had taken over the rest of my body. I could no longer walk. Apparently it was pressing on a part of my brain that controlled movement. There were days I couldn’t move my arms. There were days I couldn’t move my lips. There were days I couldn’t even open my eyes. But at least I could do that today. And I could move my arms. Everything else felt disconnected from me though.
I took the paper from Joanne and looked at the face of my daughter. The poor girl looked like me too. I smiled. But a much prettier version of me. I traced her picture with my finger. Would she miss me? She would. Probably not as much as Jess, but more than Joanne. I closed the paper, my anal-retentiveness still very much a part of me. I could never leave a newspaper open, could never leave it folded…wrong. I always had to return it to its original state, just as it had been delivered. I laughed inside. If anything, the thing in my head seemed to have intensified that part of me a bit. It took away my various functions randomly, it often took away my memory, but it kept every bit and more of my obsessive-compulsive disorders.
I sighed. I was tired. I just wanted to sleep for a while. I finished folding the paper and went to hand it back to Joanne. But as she started to take it from me, that proud smile still on her lips, my eyes caught a small headline on the front page. “Detective with local roots killed in NYC shootout.” And below it was a picture. I snatched the paper from her hands. My heart raced. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Joanne glancing at the machines that monitored my every bodily function.
Detective Andrew Matthews, 30, was killed in a shootout Monday morning as he
attempted to break up a fight involving several patrons of a popular nightclub in
Manhattan. Matthews, who was off duty at the time, was born in Kingston, where he
is survived by his parents Linda and Richard Matthews of Kingston, and a brother
Thomas Matthews, also of Kingston. (more on page B3)
I ran a finger over the picture. I felt tears stinging at the back of my eyes. I didn’t blink them back. There was no reason to. And I couldn’t have if I had wanted to.
“David, what’s wrong?” I heard the concern in her voice. She didn’t love me anymore. She hadn’t loved me for years. But we had enough shared history for her to still feel…concern.
I didn’t look up. I just stared at the picture. It was a small picture. Hardly big enough to show details. And it was black and white. It didn’t show the gold of his hair, the gold that had changed over the years to a darker gold, like a gold coin that had been handled by many fingers, that had picked up the stains of time. It didn’t show that his brows were so much darker than his hair, or how one of those brows always seemed to be raised, as if in question. And it didn’t show the color of his eyes, those eyes that reflected my own soul. It didn’t show that they were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green almost going to blue, but not quite.
“Did you know him, David?” The concern had faded to curiosity. Doubtless after 19 years of marriage she assumed she knew everyone I knew.
I nodded. Yes, I knew him. But I wouldn’t explain it to her. There would be no point. She wouldn’t understand. At best she would just understand that he was someone I had met, someone I had ****ed twice—proving those suspicions she had had about me all along. She would never understand that he had been—still was—the other half of my soul. Of everyone I knew, maybe only Sarah—my daughter who was not my favorite, but who was more like me than I was myself these days—would understand. But I wouldn’t tell her either. There was no point and not enough time.
I sighed and leaned back against the pillows. I held the newspaper against my chest. I was so tired. I remembered the last time we had been together. I remembered his laugh had been so filled with the joy of life and how I had thought of his life going on while mine was ending. Funny how fate played with lives.
I sighed and closed my eyes. I felt myself starting to drift. The drugs that were dripping into my veins were good ones, and I was so incredibly tired. I just wanted to sleep for a little while. “In our dreams our lips brush.” I just wanted to feel those lips one more time.
“David…” I could hear the concern back in her voice. I wished she would just leave me alone. I just wanted to sleep for a little while. Couldn’t she see that I was just so incredibly tired? “David…”
“David, our souls will always seek each other. We are two halves of one whole. We are destined to be together, if not in this life then the next, or the next. But we will always be together. In our dreams our lips brush. In eternity, our souls entwine.”
He reached out and traced the line of my cheek with one finger. I looked in his eyes and I could see the truth in them. And I could see something else. I could see my reflection in his eyes. And in that reflection, I could see his reflection. Like the endless reflections of two mirrors face to face, stretching into infinity, into eternity.
I covered his hand with mine and brought it to my lips. I kissed each of his fingers, one by one, and placed a soft kiss upon his palm. And I repeated his words to him, whispered them softly, with every ounce of my last breath.
“In eternity, our souls entwine.”
I sighed against my pillow as I slowly drifted toward consciousness. I felt a sense of peace and happiness spread through me, a wave of warmth that made me feel like I was wrapped up in an electric blanket. I stretched, smiled and sighed again. I didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want to open my eyes. I just wanted to spend the rest of eternity wrapped up in this blanket. It felt so good. It felt like I had been on a very long journey and had finally come home, home to the soul that would forever entwine with mine.
Last edited by wanderingsoul, 4/4/2004, 3:24 am
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And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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4/4/2004, 3:22 am
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wanderingsoul
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Registered: 07-2003
Location: Wandering
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And He Loved Me
I lay there looking up at the ceiling, thinking. My head felt cloudy, foggy; my thoughts seemed disjointed. I wasn’t all that sure I was actually awake. But that was how things felt sometimes, almost like a dream…surreal. I closed my eyes and felt memories rush in and out of my head—veiled, shadowed in mist one moment, and the next so real I could smell his hair, taste his skin. But were they memories? Or were they dreams? Or fantasies? If they were dreams, they lingered long after I was awake. If they were fantasies, then they consumed my mind—and my body. And if they were memories, then… then there were just no words.
But last night had been so perfect, so very perfect…almost too perfect to have been real. And I questioned whether it had been real. I was starting to doubt my perception of reality, doubt my ability to discern the difference between reality and delusion. But then, weren’t they both subjective? I forced myself to get out of bed. It was hard.
I shook my head ran a hand through my hair as I looked in the mirror. I looked like hell. But then, I hadn’t slept much recently. And the lack of sleep had darkened my eyes, taken some of the color out of them. Normally they were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green almost going to blue, but not quite. But right now they were shadowed, the green seeming to have bled away leaving nothing left but a murky ocean blue. But it went rather well with the red that streaked through the white of my eyes. A wonderful color combination: bloodshot red and murky blue. Yeah, I looked like hell.
I grabbed a cup of cappuccino and sat down at the computer. I stared at the screen for a couple of minutes before opening Word and looking through my saved files. My fingers trembled on the mouse as I searched for the one I wanted. I was afraid I wouldn’t find it. I was afraid that it hadn’t been real, that the whole conversation had been part of a dream, a dream that had seemed more real than reality. Like the one I had just woken up from. At least, I thought that had been a dream—I was starting to question that also. It could just as well have been a fantasy, could just as well have been a memory. Or it could have been a dream of a memory. I shook my head. I really needed to get more sleep.
But the point was that that dream had felt real, too, every bit as real as it felt sitting here at the computer right now. Which made me really question whether what I thought I was remembering from last night had actually occurred. Maybe I was losing my hold on my perceived reality. Maybe the worlds inside my head were blending with the world around me. I shivered and tried to wrap my arms around myself, tried to hold myself, warm myself against the cold that crept through me. What if I couldn’t tell the difference? And how would I even know if I could?
But despite my doubts, my eyes still scanned the file lists. I wanted to believe it had been real, wanted that more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. But I was half convinced I wouldn’t find it, and that made me feel…empty, like I had lost something impossible to replace.
My heart leapt in my chest. There it was! My pulse raced as I clicked the file open. My heart skipped a beat—or two—as I read through the early part of the conversation. I smiled. I grinned. It was quite the conversation! I had melted to goo and was oozing all over, a bit like the Blob. I laughed. It was a completely absurd conversation, but my stomach fluttered a little—just as it had when I had been “goo”—at the undertones.
I stopped laughing. I stopped laughing because the words of the conversation had changed—suddenly, it seemed. Suddenly they had lost their lightness, had lost their laughter. And I read the words that I was afraid I hadn’t remembered correctly, the words I was afraid had just been part of my dream…
dylan@hotmail.com says:
my fingers find your lips again as i stroke them softly feeling the smooth soft skin, i
move my mouth closer to yours stopping to look in your eyes letting myself drown
in them and all the emotions there before pressing my mouth against yours tenderly
Have no clue says:
*has lost all sensation but your touch, can see nothing but your eyes--which seem
to have suddenly become twin whirlpools, spinning me slowing but inexorably into
their depths, surrounding me until I have no hope of--or desire to escape.*
dylan@hotmail.com says:
my eyes linger on yours even as i feel the kiss change, the tenderness softly slips
into warmth as our tongues caress, my eyes finally slip shut as a moan leaves my
throat, the kiss now slips into passion as the fire creeps through my veins setting
me alight with a need for you, my hand pulls you closer to me, but i know you will
never be close enough, for my body craves yours to be close to mine and never
parted
Have no clue says:
Our tongues tell what our bodies want, as the slide together, slow sensuality turning
to feverish hunger as our bodies press together. I can feel your heart beating
against mine, feel the pulse in your veins becoming indistinguishable from mine, my
senses so tangling in you that I cannot feel where I end and you begin. I want
nothing more than to become part of you, for you to become part of me.
dylan@hotmail.com says:
i give in to you letting you surround me, my senses are drowned in you, all i know
is you, your smell, taste touch and how you feel, our pulse throbs through us in
time, together always together, my hands become lost in touching your smooth soft
skin, as i undress you the best i can, stroking your back as our bodies push against
each other our mouths continuing to increase our desire, i feel pleasure shoot
through me, but i'm no longer sure if it is yours or my pleasure then i realise its
ours, us, one
Have no clue says:
I am vaguely aware of my fingers trembling as they slip beneath your clothes. I
lose the sense of them, but realize from a distance that your skin now touches
mine, your heat warms my blood. My breath flows into you as yours flows into mine
and my body trembles with that sense of connection, sending tingling tendrils of
pleasure through every pore, every nerve.
dylan@hotmail.com says:
i feel myself lose control as you surround all my senses, my mind is in a haze all i
can think is you, i run my hand down your back pushing you closer to me as my
hand find your ass, pushing you nearer to me as i try to get nearer to you, our
breathing is shallow as we kiss deeply lost in each other, my hand moves between
us as i stroke the outline of your erection strokes that match the movement of our
tongues, i hear moans but i'm no longer sure if they belong to you or me,
Have no clue says:
Your moans caress my very soul as your hands caress my body. My head swims as
I lose myself deeper and deeper within you. My hand finds yours, my fingers
brushing yours, entwining in yours before finding the heat of your erection. I stroke
you in the same rhythm that you stroke me, my hips finding the same rhythm as I
move into your hand.
dylan@hotmail.com says:
your skin makes me burn inside with passion, though i find it difficult to establish
what is your skin or mine, your hands on me bring a groan from deep within and i
know it came from me, for a moment my mind slightly clears as i break the kiss
looking into your eyes, filled with passion that mirrors my own, i stroke your face
softly before removing the rest of our clothing, i need to feel all of you against me,,
and as i sink back into your arms, my skin meets yours i feel my self begin to drown
in you again, as our bodies melt to become one bringing the pleasure that runs
through our bodies.
Have no clue says:
As your eyes meet mine I reach up to touch your cheek with one finger--that I notice
is trembling. I trace the line of your cheek, my eyes never leaving yours. I part my
lips slightly, wanting to speak to you, wanting my words to say what my eyes cannot
possibly be hiding--but my breath is swept away by the overwhelming intensity of
the feelings your touch triggers. My body touches yours, but I can feel no point of
contact, cannot feel any separation.
dylan@hotmail.com says:
I run my hands along your skin loving the feel of you, as you get closer, no barriers
between our bodies, i feel all of you around me, breaking the kiss once more my
eyes search yours, still one barrier remains that i placed there, i feel your body
touching mine i feel my hands on your skin, our ****s are rubbing against each
other, but its your eyes that make breathing hard, they are like the color of sea
water before the storm, emotions blazing in them, i kiss your swollen lips breaking
the eye contact, not sure what i see there, i feel myself drown in you again,
Have no clue says:
My fingers follow the perfect curve of your cheek upwards, to brush lightly around
the outside of your eye, tracing the edge of your brow, as if trying to touch what is
behind your beautiful eyes. My eyes offer you my soul as they look into yours--as
my body offers you everything of me that is physical. Nothing is held back, all is
offered without reservation. As your lips touch mine, I feel part of you retreat and I
let it go, caressing it gently as it finds its own safety. I pull you close to me, my
arms not offering you a prison, but a retreat. And I sigh against your lips as I hope
beyond reason that you understand.
dylan@hotmail.com says:
i feel you pull me closer, no longer the physical side, it was never just that, i feel
you pull my soul closer to yours, i would run pull back, but you have managed to
consume me and i don't think i will ever escape that, i slow us down the kiss
becoming tender my strokes gentle till i'm once again looking in your stormy eyes, i
see the emotions there as you look back, my heart pounding harder than it had all
night i let every emotion inside rise to my eyes as i stare into yours, and i smile as i
see your eyes mirror my own, my hand gently brushes your cheek there is so much
to say but my throat closes all i manage is to whisper so beautiful, whilst looking
into your eyes, i finally find my soul.
Have no clue says:
I hear your words and they echo the thoughts that I have as I look at you. I see your
eyes fill with emotion, emotions no longer safely hiding and I reach out to embrace
them, to take them gently into my heart where they will always find a safe refuge. I
brush my lips lightly over yours, not wanting the heat of passion, but wanting the
tenderness of emotion. My body still aches for you, but my soul finds satisfaction
as it entwines with yours. I feel the sweet memories of times long previous flow
from your soul to mine and see that they are shared memories, as though our souls
were once joined, were once one. And I feel that sense of connection that goes
beyond any physical expression, beyond any words that can be spoken. And I
surrender myself to it completely.
dylan@hotmail.com says:
I lay in your arms, tenderly pressing my lips against yours ad i let go, to the feeling
surrounding us, i feel the connection of our souls as they rejoice being reunited
once again, everything makes perfect sense as my body touches yours and i know
why you consume my senses and why i drown in them, you make me whole, with
that knowledge i surrender everything to the feeling that is strange yet natural,
connecting at last.
Have no clue says:
I run my fingers through your hair, letting the silken strands--so sinfully soft--slip
through my fingers, feeling for a moment as if I had lived this moment before. I am
so completely connected to you that I feel a vague fear breeze through my mind,
and my arms hold you tighter as I acknowledge that fear, see its face as it mocks
the very ecstasy that rushes through my soul. It is the fear of losing that taints the
joy of finding. And I feel a shiver run through my body, feel cold fingers brush my
skin as doubts tease me. Can something lost than found be lost again?
dylan@hotmail.com says:
I feel the fear as it rushes through and feel you pull me near, i hold you close, it can
be lost again, too many things in life interfere for me to make false promises of it
forever being found and never lost, so i cannot make no such promise, but i can tell
you what i know, to live in fear of losing what you have found will forever be your
jester, it will taunt you to madness till you can no longer stand to wait for that day
when you lose what you have found, so you will push and cause the loss yourself,
but a soul is a free spirit meant to live forever after this body gives passage to
death, and if my soul has found you again after being lost i have no doubt it will find
you in future lives we are to lead, and each time our souls find one another it will be
a bittersweet reunion knowing that it can always be lost, but will always be found
again.
Have no clue says:
I hear your words and feel the truth of them driving away doubt. I close my eyes
tightly, not wanting to let the stinging at the back of my eyes find its way to the
surface. My hold on you loosens slightly, but not to push you away, not to accept
the loss of you--but to let you know, once more, that my arms will never be a prison-
-neither for your body, nor your soul. What is found may surely be lost again. But
as you say, it will always be found again. Each half of a whole must always retain
instinctive knowledge of the other. Even when separated they will always remain
connected.
dylan@hotmail.com says:
i feel you pull away and doubt clouds my mind, an immediate response, expecting
rejection comes easily to me, rather than rationalising, but your words stop me
pulling back and shutting out the other half of me, you, even as my head is trying to
pull away my soul is reaching out to touch you, and realisation results in my arms
wrapped around you this time, if your arms were ever akin to a prison then i would
gladly be a prisoner forever, for you have already captured all of me and i cannot
be free of you if i wished it so, as you say we are connected forever to meet despite
our paths, to walk alone until our souls can meet and become whole.
Have no clue says:
I bring my hand up to brush through your hair and press my face into those soft
strand--their coolness easing the heat if my skin. I breathe in deeply, letting the
scent of you fill me, letting it gently force all sense of everything that is not you from
my being. I have no more words--they have all been said. What remains is beyond
words, but I know it is perfectly understood. I slowly let my breath release, and I
unclench my eyes, letting all that is behind them release also. Nothing of mine will
ever be withheld from you--not even my tears.
dylan@hotmail.com says:
i see the tears stain your beautiful face and my hand reaches out to touch them,
make them leave, i can remember the last time i cried i was taught to never cry
again, and i haven't, but as i see your tears fall down my hand unable to stop them
falling, i feel the cold on my cheek, it falls down my face and i remember the last
time but your here now an i am safe, i bring you closer burying my head in your
shoulder to let the tears fall, tears that have not fallen for many years
Have no clue says:
I brush a tear from the corner of your eye and raise my finger to my lips. I touch
your tear with my tongue, tasting the sweetness only slightly touched by salt. I go
back to holding you close, one hand rubbing your back gently, the other playing
lightly with your hair. The taste of your tear lingers in my senses and I kiss your hair
softly, adding the taste of my own tears that linger amid the strands. I sense
beyond doubt the depth of the gift of your tears. And I whisper the only words that
my head can form, the only words that my heart can feel, and I whisper them so
softly against your hair that they are soundless to my ear. And part of me fears that
you won't hear them, and part of me fears that you might. Yet still I cannot stop
them as they form, cannot stop the breath that drives them from my heart. And they
fall upon your hair with no expectations, no requirements, no conditions. I love
you...
dylan@hotmail.com says:
I hear the words of comfort through a haze but look into your eyes as i here those
words, confusion in my eyes and questions on my lips,
dylan@hotmail.com says:
but i cannot stop myself from saying the words i have felt for so long i love you
Aaron
Tears ran down my face unchecked. I read the words again and again, half afraid I had misread them, each time half afraid they would change the next time I read them. I touched the screen, touched the words. I printed the conversation and touched the words again, ran my fingers carefully over each one. I wanted to feel them against my skin. I wanted to assure myself they were real.
Yet, what was real?
He was real. I could feel that through my soul. I smiled. I found myself doing that a lot lately, since he had first come online—smiling. I smiled whenever I thought of him—which was pretty much always. I smiled whenever I sat at the computer talking to him—which was also pretty much always. But it never seemed like it was long enough. Five hours seemed like five minutes. I had never known anyone in my life I could talk to for that long.
But then, I had never known anyone in my life I could talk to in that way either. Sometimes it felt like I was talking to myself. He spoke my words. That was what rushed through my head the very first time we talked. But so many things had rushed through my head.
I had wanted to put it all into a poem. That was what he made me feel. He made me feel poetry. No, he WAS poetry. He was everything beautiful and wonderful in the world. He was the smell of a garden after a spring rain, he was the sound of waves rippling on the warm sands of an ocean beach, he was the perfect glow of an autumn sunset, he was he was fresh taste of the first snowflakes of winter. And he was such a part of me. He was the blood in my veins, the breath in my lungs, the hope in my heart. I couldn’t imagine how I had even existed before him. But then, I hadn’t. I knew this in my heart. I had never lived one single moment without him. We were part of the same soul, two halves of one whole. And we had always been so.
And he knew that, too. I read it in his words:
…and if my soul has found you again after being lost i have no doubt it will find you
in future lives we are to lead, and each time our souls find one another it will be a
bittersweet reunion knowing that it can always be lost, but will always be found
again.
…we are connected forever to meet despite our paths, to walk alone until our souls
can meet and become whole
And he was real.
dylan@hotmail.com says:
but i cannot stop myself from saying the words i have felt for so long i love you
Aaron
And he loved me.
And I wanted more than anything to put everything he meant to me a poem, but the emotions were just too big and the things I had to say, the things I felt just wouldn’t form a poem. I tried. I typed everything he meant to me, typed the words, typed the feelings. I rearranged them endlessly. And they managed to form…something. But it was little more than a jumble of thoughts. I sighed. The feelings had rushed from my head. The words had rushed from my fingers. But I had not been able to get them to form a poem. I sighed and read the best I had been able to do:
How do I tell you what you mean to me?
How can I even try to make sense
when everything I say sounds so unbelievable?
If I say I have loved you all my life,
would that sound incredible?
If I say I have loved you before this life,
would that seem impossible?
If I say I used to feel you around me,
used to feel your hand on my arm,
your breath in my ear,
would you think I was delusional?
If I said I heard your voice and it spoke my words,
what would you think?
Would you think me mad?
Yet these impossible things are true
And if I say I have looked for you
from the moment I first heard you speak my words,
from the moment I first felt your presence,
would you understand?
And if I say I thought I’d never find you,
that I had given up hope,
that I had buried the beliefs of my boyhood
under a cover of cynicism,
would you forgive me?
Would you forgive my doubt?
Would you forgive me for not having the faith
to believe I would ever find you?
How can I ever tell you what you mean to me,
when I can barely grasp the magnitude myself?
I grimaced with frustration. They weren’t good enough. They were what I felt, but the form was wrong, the structure wrong. There was no rhythm, no flow. They had not formed a poem—no matter how kindly I looked at the words, they were not poetry. And I would never show him those words. I would never show him words that were not good enough.
**
Aaron's property LMAO says:
*whimpers* i have to go in 10 minutes hate reality
Have no clue says:
*sighs* Yes, reality. I need to go also. Work tomorrow. But you know, don't think
either of us really go anywhere. Think we are still together even when we aren't
looking at each other's words. Yeah… that sounded completely odd.
Aaron's property LMAO says:
no i got that *smiles* before you go i have a poem to show you that i wasn't planning
on showing anyone lol
Have no clue says:
I would love to see it.
Aaron's property LMAO says:
how do you tell him what he means to you,
when you know that he wont feel the same,
how do you entrust all your secrets with him,
when you know you have nothing to gain,
how do you let him in close enough,
when he could cause you so much pain,
how do you accept that he will not be yours,
when your heart always knows his name
how do you push him away from you,
when you hang on each word that he says,
how do you pretend to love someone else,
when you don't love him this same way,
how do you love him with all your heart,
when you know he would just walk away.
how can you say that the feelings are none,
when his touch sings to your entire soul,
how do you pretend he is just a friend,
when without him your not really whole.
Have no clue says:
When did you write that?
Aaron's property LMAO says:
last weekend
Have no clue says:
Notice how slow I am to respond here. That is because I am completely... don't even
know what I am completely. Overwhelmed? Blown away? Mouth hanging open
amazed? yeah.. those things. But mostly I just am reaching for the scrap of tissue I
have left--it is already wet and nasty, you know. Now you have to go and make me
use it again. God! I don't know if I have told you today that I love you
Have no clue says:
Hard to tell where today begins with these damned time zones. But I love you.
Totally.
Aaron's property LMAO says:
*smiles* i will take that as you like it? and i love you too i realised it after i wrote this
hadn't admitted it till then
Have no clue says:
Yeah, you can take that as I like it. Could have written many of those lines myself.
Had them in my head. Wasn't quite up to committing them to the "written word"
though. Started to, actually... started pouring my feelings into a poem... trashed it
though. Was one of those "you are so ****ing pathetic why don't you just drown
yourself" moments.
Aaron's property LMAO says:
lol you can see why i wasn't showing anyone this one lol would say too much, and i
still can't post it, like is say i write as i feel them, and this was what happened came
close to deleting it but didn't, made me face the fact that i love you
Have no clue says:
I'm glad you didn't delete it. I'm keeping it, you know. Not losing a word of it. I can
see why you might not have wanted to post it. It does reveal much. I would have read
it, my heart would have jumped from my chest-then I would have laughed at myself for
thinking you meant me and wondered who you did mean and would have hated that
person so intensely. Glad you wrote it. Glad you faced it
Aaron's property LMAO says:
yeah me too glad you like it *smiles and kisses you* i really have to go
Have no clue says:
*kisses you quickly and smiles* Go... I will miss you. Now run along! *pats your head
and grins* Love you
Aaron's property LMAO says:
*grins* will miss you too, love you *blows you a kiss on his way out the door*
I sighed deeply. The time zone difference was a killer. He was five hours ahead of me. It was 1 am here, 6 am there. His day was just beginning and mine should have ended an hour ago. I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that he was such an insomniac. Well, it was a good thing probably because if he hadn’t been, if he had slept at “normal” times, we wouldn’t have had so much time together.
I read his poem again and I felt everything all over again. He had written those words last weekend—while we had both been running from each other. I shook my head, amazed at how very alike we were in our insecurities. We had both made such an effort to convince ourselves that we didn’t feel what we felt. We were both afraid to admit that to ourselves, to open ourselves up for hurt--because we were both so certain the other couldn’t possibly feel what we were trying to convince ourselves we didn’t feel. I laughed. We were both so ****ed up it wasn’t funny.
But he loved me and I loved him. And I wanted so badly to tell him that. Oh, I told him that in our conversations. I showed him in the gestures that accompanied my words. But I wanted to tell him in words that reflected the poetry that surrounded my heart and soul whenever I thought of him.
I opened the file that held the would-be poem I had tried to write. I looked at the words I that fumbled across the screen. The form was just wrong, the structure wrong. There was no rhythm, no flow. They had not formed a poem and no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that it wouldn’t matter, that he would not care about the structure of my words, that he loved all my words—it was still not a poem. And I wouldn’t show it to him. I closed that window.
I smiled. He did love all my words. He had told me that. And I loved all of his. I sat there for a while and reread our words to each other. Our words were what connected us. They let us touch without touching… My fingers trembled as I thought those words. “They touch without touching.” Words… And I could hear them forming in my head even before my fingers touched the keyboard. And they fell from my fingers as quickly as they rushed through my head.
words
your words are all I have of you
they touch me without touching
they caress my skin
like the subtle brush of ghostly fingers
they kiss my lips
as softly as the delicate flutter of a butterfly’s wings
they wrap their warmth around me
and hold me as closely as the strongest arms
my words are all I can give to you
they touch you without touching
they trace the soft line of your cheek
like tendrils of smoke tease the clouds
they slip slowly through your hair
like a breeze blows through the curtains of an open window
they breathe upon your face and dry your tears
as a summer breeze dries the rain
our words are all we need of each other
they hold us without holding
they brush against each other,
as tender and intimate as whispers upon a pillow
they slide sensually across the page, across the miles,
like lovers on satin sheets
they tangle together, lost souls now found,
locked for eternity in an armless embrace
I looked at the clock. It was after 3, going on 4 and I had to go to work in the morning, had to be up at 7. But the words were out of my head. Words that said what he was to me, what he meant to me. Words that belonged to him. These I would show him.
**
To: Dylan
Subject: While I was SUPPOSED to be sleeping
Sent: 10/3/03 3:58 a.m.
Yeah, I know...It's 3:40 am and I need to get up in about 3 hours. ****...
I am too stupid to live sometimes. But... Had words in my head that had to
get out. No point in trying for sleep with words racing through your head.
Complete waste of time.
I posted them... without comment. Who knows if anyone will understand the
meaning behind them. And if they do, no telling whether they will identify
the person they are meant for. I have no plans to answer if anyone asks.
None of their business. But they are for you.
**
To: Aaron
From: Dylan
Subject: Re: While I was SUPPOSED to be sleeping
Received: 10/3/03 10:50 a.m.
*Frowns slightly, stroking your face with my fingers* you need to rest, i understand that just hope you manage to get some rest later *kisses you softly* yes you are kinda dumb at times, what i love most about you, but never too stupid to live,
I read them and i'm lost for words, its beautiful Aaron, not surprised that those words could come from you as you write so well, but surprised how i thought my heart would stop beating when i read it. *shakes head face in utter awe* not sure why you love me but i'm not going to question that, just thankful your completely mad enough to fall for me.
**
Words…
our words are all we need of each other
they hold us without holding
they brush against each other,
as tender and intimate as whispers upon a pillow
they slide sensually across the page, across the miles,
like lovers on satin sheets
they tangle together, lost souls now found,
locked for eternity in an armless embrace
And he was real.
And he loved me.
Last edited by wanderingsoul, 4/4/2004, 3:32 am
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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4/4/2004, 3:26 am
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