Dreams of Him
We sit at a campfire in a small clearing in the woods, basking in the dusk, with the soft chirr of insects and birds settling down to sleep around us. I gaze at him softly, watching how the firelight gilds his hair, limns his lips with something I need.
He catches my eye, and shifts closer to me, making my heart stutter in my chest. He leans in, and I panic as his breath brushes the corner of my mouth. I put my hand to his face, all of the years of yearning concentrated in trembling anticipation, and whisper, "Please. Only if you mean it."
He regards me heavily, for the eternity of one heartbeat; soft fingers gently caress my cheek.
He turns away.
***
I'm flying, hurrying through the night, streetlamps blurring below me. I have to find him. He holds something that I burn for, something I'm wasting away without. He said he would be here, would meet me.
He is not at our tree, our meeting place.
I spy his house and swoop down, determined to see him.
The bay window is backlit with fairy lights and candles, curtains wide open to the starry night. I can't help but peer inside, attention caught by motion. He holds her in his arms, swaying to a soft tune I can almost make out through the glass.
I'm too late. I was too far away.
He spins her, then tugs her back in by the waist. She's laughing, he's flashing his damned dimple. He spins them, and directly faces me, nothing but a picture window to shield me, completely crushed.
He faces me directly, and doesn't see me.
***
He holds my hand, makes charming conversation, makes intelligent observations of the art surrounding us as we tour the museum. I cannot take my eyes off him. His charisma entrances me, his kindness pleases me, his intelligence and wit entertain me. He is a goddamned delight.
He reels me in closely, and in my heels I'm of a height with him. He presses his forehead to mine and puts his arms around me. I drape my wrists across his shoulders, toying with the fetching curls just at his collar.
I am so heartstoppingly in love with him. This moment is so solid, so intense, that it stretches into my past to soothe the echoes of my tribulations. It reaches into the future, painting a vibrant life that rivals anything in our surroundings.
I know he is there for me. I know I am first. I know I am cherished.
He leans in, lips touching mine in the slowest, lightest possible way. My toes tingle. He crushes me to him. The breath leaves me all in a rush as the blade pierces my lung. One hand implacably clutches my waist and the other twists the knife, driving it deeper into my back. The pain doesn't register, just a sudden weakness as my knees refuse to hold me. I sink to the ground, and he kneels with me, eyes burning into me.
I love him so much.
***
My dreams come to pass.
He catches my eye, and shifts closer to me, making my heart stutter in my chest. He leans in, and I panic as his breath brushes the corner of my mouth. I put my hand to his face, all of the years of yearning concentrated in trembling anticipation, and whisper, "Please. Only if you mean it."
He regards me heavily, for the eternity of one heartbeat; soft fingers gently caress my cheek.
He turns away.
***
I'm flying, hurrying through the night, streetlamps blurring below me. I have to find him. He holds something that I burn for, something I'm wasting away without. He said he would be here, would meet me.
He is not at our tree, our meeting place.
I spy his house and swoop down, determined to see him.
The bay window is backlit with fairy lights and candles, curtains wide open to the starry night. I can't help but peer inside, attention caught by motion. He holds her in his arms, swaying to a soft tune I can almost make out through the glass.
I'm too late. I was too far away.
He spins her, then tugs her back in by the waist. She's laughing, he's flashing his damned dimple. He spins them, and directly faces me, nothing but a picture window to shield me, completely crushed.
He faces me directly, and doesn't see me.
***
He holds my hand, makes charming conversation, makes intelligent observations of the art surrounding us as we tour the museum. I cannot take my eyes off him. His charisma entrances me, his kindness pleases me, his intelligence and wit entertain me. He is a goddamned delight.
He reels me in closely, and in my heels I'm of a height with him. He presses his forehead to mine and puts his arms around me. I drape my wrists across his shoulders, toying with the fetching curls just at his collar.
I am so heartstoppingly in love with him. This moment is so solid, so intense, that it stretches into my past to soothe the echoes of my tribulations. It reaches into the future, painting a vibrant life that rivals anything in our surroundings.
I know he is there for me. I know I am first. I know I am cherished.
He leans in, lips touching mine in the slowest, lightest possible way. My toes tingle. He crushes me to him. The breath leaves me all in a rush as the blade pierces my lung. One hand implacably clutches my waist and the other twists the knife, driving it deeper into my back. The pain doesn't register, just a sudden weakness as my knees refuse to hold me. I sink to the ground, and he kneels with me, eyes burning into me.
I love him so much.
***
My dreams come to pass.