Lost in Translation
He took her hand into his allowing those strong digits of his to clasp into hers without hesitation. Palm to palm in a warm embracing kiss, they never dared to let go for fear that these sensations may never be shared again. Hazel eyes would look about with a saddened demeanor, yet kept it pushed deep within as they would lock to his golden brown orbs. She wanted nothing more but to stay within those eyes, those magnificent windows to who he was. Even his eyes held an underlining emotion that brought forth a tug to her heart. He was leaving again, far from her and had but short moments to soak in his presence. A gentle smile would creep along his features making him all the more handsome to her. Nothing in around her seemed as sublime as just the subtle smile that he would give to her and only her. Yet the image seemed to fade, almost die away as her eyes focused to what was really before her. Hazel globes flickered open with as a bit of a shock ran through her nerves. She had been dreaming again and it was becoming apparently obvious that it was affecting her studies. Spirals, hearts and other random shapes covered the sheet of paper that was supposed to hold notes to her class. Taking in a bit of a rushed breath she looked up to the board and began to jot down everything she could from the history of famous painters to the inspiring words of philosophers. The instructor’s voice carried throughout the room in an almost monotonous drone unless she found something to be dryly humorous.
“Nietzsche… A philosopher of ages,” the older voice would mention in a matter-of-fact almost British demeanor, “God is dead! He would cry in the fields of many observers… And they said he was insane.” With a slight chuckle shared by no one else she pushes the bridge of her glasses higher on her nose, clears her throat and immediately becomes informative within her lesson. Continuing on with the words of a madman, as she would say, she spoke of the German philosopher with a dry undertone of humor. Yet she, herself, could not grasp the intellectual’s understanding of the topic. So instead she went back to focusing only on the notes that she needed to write down, attempting to find room within the jumbled mess of doodles. Taking only enough time to draw out the delicate lines to the letters of his name, she paused and thought of him. Almost instantaneously she was lost within her thoughts again bringing him back to her imagination faster than the instructor could spat out another saying. This time she just tried to remember the last time she held him, the last she kissed him and heard his voice. “Him.” The man her mind would revert to every time her mouth was shut, her brain wasn’t occupied, when it was quiet and when it wasn’t. Sighs would flood out of her slightly parted lips much like her breath had become a waterfall every time his name was spoken or she thought she would hear his voice. But it was impossible. No matter the intensity of his volume, it would be some distance still she would have to travel to hear those intoxicating tones. Licking her lips just enough to moisten them she found herself lost within his memory again, thinking of how his voice would sound ringing within her ears, or the feeling of how his breath would feel tickling along the hairs on the back of her neck. Eyes closed again she sank into her pool of visions, allowing the images of those strong features to fill her fantasies. Setting down the pen, her nails went to idly drawing out the same shapes and lines as before, lines that would loop in and out of each other in playful rotations and spirals. She was comfortable like this, lost in the waves of her imaginations. From his voice to the way he would look to her with his dark intriguing eyes, it was all real to her and to her at that moment he was not far from her, but rather sitting beside her. Tender arms sleeved in greens and khakis wrapped around her to keep her ever so close to his toned build. As scratchy and hot as most would believe that long sleeved jacket to be on him, he wore it proud as a sign of his career. Looking to him more closely now she could only see the full battle dress of his uniform, the way his helmet looked bulky and oversized to the way his vest fit snug to his contours. Desperately she tried to think of how he would teasingly lean into her and laid tiny nips against her shoulder and as always those playful wisps of what goatee he had would tingle against her skin. But instead all she could suddenly focus on was the feel of long, boney fingers pressing roughly into her shoulders and the sound of those over sophisticated tones ringing annoyingly in her ears. Desperately she mentally reached out to those images as they seemed to fall away from her, backing away to the depths of her memories. Blinking a few times in defeat she finally understood that her instructor was calling her name and expecting her to answer whatever the question was that had been asked.
“Existentialism… What does it mean to you? Maybe to some it is a life style in which inconsistencies are valued as gifts and gratitude, were as to others, perhaps much like, Gretchen here, it is a continuous existence.” With that those fingers released her shoulder and patted against it in an almost reassuring manner, but in a way that was also meant for discipline. Silently she rejoiced that her professor was so sly at covering up her lack of attention. Without a miss in step of her sermon on theories she continued on away to her alter at the front of the class. Rolling her eyes and taking in another long breath she realized her mistake and locked her concentration to the front, to the lecture and her future. Yet still inside she was not at ease with all that was happening. She could not settle her mind down or steer away from thoughts of him. Already it had been so long that she had seen him and been able to touch him. Her memories and daydreams were all that she had at that moment until his return. His return… She smiled at the thought and was able to relax only a little at the idea that he was going to be home, that soon she would see him again. Still even in that amazing thought and idea, fear riddled through her nerves.
The trials of his absence made her breath catch made her have to remember that it was a part of the game, as they would say. She was an Army wife and because of that she had to learn to be strong, to be willing to accept anything and everything that might or could possibly happen. But still inside, she waited impatiently for his return, no matter how close that day was. Spirals littered her page as she thought hard on that. One more week... Just one more week and she knew he would be safe within her arms and safe within these borders. All she had to do was wait one more week.
“Nietzsche… A philosopher of ages,” the older voice would mention in a matter-of-fact almost British demeanor, “God is dead! He would cry in the fields of many observers… And they said he was insane.” With a slight chuckle shared by no one else she pushes the bridge of her glasses higher on her nose, clears her throat and immediately becomes informative within her lesson. Continuing on with the words of a madman, as she would say, she spoke of the German philosopher with a dry undertone of humor. Yet she, herself, could not grasp the intellectual’s understanding of the topic. So instead she went back to focusing only on the notes that she needed to write down, attempting to find room within the jumbled mess of doodles. Taking only enough time to draw out the delicate lines to the letters of his name, she paused and thought of him. Almost instantaneously she was lost within her thoughts again bringing him back to her imagination faster than the instructor could spat out another saying. This time she just tried to remember the last time she held him, the last she kissed him and heard his voice. “Him.” The man her mind would revert to every time her mouth was shut, her brain wasn’t occupied, when it was quiet and when it wasn’t. Sighs would flood out of her slightly parted lips much like her breath had become a waterfall every time his name was spoken or she thought she would hear his voice. But it was impossible. No matter the intensity of his volume, it would be some distance still she would have to travel to hear those intoxicating tones. Licking her lips just enough to moisten them she found herself lost within his memory again, thinking of how his voice would sound ringing within her ears, or the feeling of how his breath would feel tickling along the hairs on the back of her neck. Eyes closed again she sank into her pool of visions, allowing the images of those strong features to fill her fantasies. Setting down the pen, her nails went to idly drawing out the same shapes and lines as before, lines that would loop in and out of each other in playful rotations and spirals. She was comfortable like this, lost in the waves of her imaginations. From his voice to the way he would look to her with his dark intriguing eyes, it was all real to her and to her at that moment he was not far from her, but rather sitting beside her. Tender arms sleeved in greens and khakis wrapped around her to keep her ever so close to his toned build. As scratchy and hot as most would believe that long sleeved jacket to be on him, he wore it proud as a sign of his career. Looking to him more closely now she could only see the full battle dress of his uniform, the way his helmet looked bulky and oversized to the way his vest fit snug to his contours. Desperately she tried to think of how he would teasingly lean into her and laid tiny nips against her shoulder and as always those playful wisps of what goatee he had would tingle against her skin. But instead all she could suddenly focus on was the feel of long, boney fingers pressing roughly into her shoulders and the sound of those over sophisticated tones ringing annoyingly in her ears. Desperately she mentally reached out to those images as they seemed to fall away from her, backing away to the depths of her memories. Blinking a few times in defeat she finally understood that her instructor was calling her name and expecting her to answer whatever the question was that had been asked.
“Existentialism… What does it mean to you? Maybe to some it is a life style in which inconsistencies are valued as gifts and gratitude, were as to others, perhaps much like, Gretchen here, it is a continuous existence.” With that those fingers released her shoulder and patted against it in an almost reassuring manner, but in a way that was also meant for discipline. Silently she rejoiced that her professor was so sly at covering up her lack of attention. Without a miss in step of her sermon on theories she continued on away to her alter at the front of the class. Rolling her eyes and taking in another long breath she realized her mistake and locked her concentration to the front, to the lecture and her future. Yet still inside she was not at ease with all that was happening. She could not settle her mind down or steer away from thoughts of him. Already it had been so long that she had seen him and been able to touch him. Her memories and daydreams were all that she had at that moment until his return. His return… She smiled at the thought and was able to relax only a little at the idea that he was going to be home, that soon she would see him again. Still even in that amazing thought and idea, fear riddled through her nerves.
The trials of his absence made her breath catch made her have to remember that it was a part of the game, as they would say. She was an Army wife and because of that she had to learn to be strong, to be willing to accept anything and everything that might or could possibly happen. But still inside, she waited impatiently for his return, no matter how close that day was. Spirals littered her page as she thought hard on that. One more week... Just one more week and she knew he would be safe within her arms and safe within these borders. All she had to do was wait one more week.