Cold Ache
Some writing I did in Art History today...
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I had to be dreaming - didn’t I? With my eyes still closed, I took account of my surroundings. A soft bed underneath, rain pitter-pattering on the roof, and that warm body next to me. This person was so close, his chest and stomach pushed against me when he inhaled, and his arm was wrapped firmly around my own torso. This was too nice, too safe, too warm to be reality. I couldn’t feel this happy, could I?
But I did, and I wasn’t waking up. Was this the person I thought he was? Did he save me? Perhaps that cold ache that lingered in the back of my mind was the dream now, a distant inkling of a memory. I couldn’t feel it in the climax of it’s potency, but I knew that at one point, that I’d given up, given in to that darkness, become numb, and repeatedly gave myself away, desperate to feel something once again. My past self told me it didn’t work, it just made me number.
I would never feel again.
But now, was I wrong?
I was feeling - I was feeling so much I could barely organize my thoughts, each emotion swirling.
And then, I was awake enough to remember the name of the person next to me. But it wasn’t a name for everyone to use… Just the ones he loved.
Did that mean I was loved?
His breathing changed, and the body next to mine went from the relaxed obliviousness of sleep to something more tense, more aware. The arm around me held tighter, and his hand followed my forearm, fingers gently wrapping around my own.
I dared to open my eyes. The room was homey, warm, comfortable, and still dark. I was wake now, but somehow still connected to that cold ache. I could feel it there - it was hungry, it wanted to take me back.
Then… his thumb brushed back and forth along my hand, and spread warmth, an invisible glow that rippled across my skin.
And then a kiss, on my neck, just under my ear. The cold ache, with one last dull cry, receded away as a starburst of warmth spread from where those lips still lingered.
I had to be dreaming.
--
I had to be dreaming - didn’t I? With my eyes still closed, I took account of my surroundings. A soft bed underneath, rain pitter-pattering on the roof, and that warm body next to me. This person was so close, his chest and stomach pushed against me when he inhaled, and his arm was wrapped firmly around my own torso. This was too nice, too safe, too warm to be reality. I couldn’t feel this happy, could I?
But I did, and I wasn’t waking up. Was this the person I thought he was? Did he save me? Perhaps that cold ache that lingered in the back of my mind was the dream now, a distant inkling of a memory. I couldn’t feel it in the climax of it’s potency, but I knew that at one point, that I’d given up, given in to that darkness, become numb, and repeatedly gave myself away, desperate to feel something once again. My past self told me it didn’t work, it just made me number.
I would never feel again.
But now, was I wrong?
I was feeling - I was feeling so much I could barely organize my thoughts, each emotion swirling.
And then, I was awake enough to remember the name of the person next to me. But it wasn’t a name for everyone to use… Just the ones he loved.
Did that mean I was loved?
His breathing changed, and the body next to mine went from the relaxed obliviousness of sleep to something more tense, more aware. The arm around me held tighter, and his hand followed my forearm, fingers gently wrapping around my own.
I dared to open my eyes. The room was homey, warm, comfortable, and still dark. I was wake now, but somehow still connected to that cold ache. I could feel it there - it was hungry, it wanted to take me back.
Then… his thumb brushed back and forth along my hand, and spread warmth, an invisible glow that rippled across my skin.
And then a kiss, on my neck, just under my ear. The cold ache, with one last dull cry, receded away as a starburst of warmth spread from where those lips still lingered.
I had to be dreaming.