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More writing from me ... hope you all like it. Feedback is my crack.
Title: A Whisper of You
Word count: 697
Summary: "You are the only person who has understood even a whisper of me, and I will tell you that I am the only person who has understood even a whisper of you."
Rating: Um ... cavity-inducing-ly sweet.
Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing them ...
The beach was beautiful that night, just like Alex said it would be. I wonder if this unreality had already begun to seep into my sleepy brain, I wonder if it was here, in the Ukraine, or if I merely assigned it to this place. Have there ever been as many sunflowers anywhere as there were at Augustine’s house in Trachimbrod? Have there ever been more novels? More Trachimdays, filled with floats, more beaches like this, with sand softer than a woman’s hair? Have as many people fallen in love anywhere else, and have there ever been this many sadnesses?
It’s not as if he’ll give me any answers. I indulge him with dreams, and he’d gladly re-feed them to me, but these dreams of the destroyed shtetl are ours to be contemplated or lost in, but not to cheapen. I wish they could be true, I wish things were just like I wanted them to have been. He doesn’t want to talk about my stories anymore. He wants things to be perfect for my ancestors, and for us, but our perfections don’t match up. I can’t erase 1942, make it so that we found Augustine, give Safran two arms, or let Brod love. It isn’t life.
“The beginning of the world often comes,” I say aloud, without knowing. There are so many phrases, words, names, and they all fall down so easily. Lipstick messages on the ceiling.
You are Jonathan. You love Alex.
The world is always re-newing itself. The past is sealed in amber, but we can shine light through, and see things exactly as they were. Right now was a beginning, but of what, I didn’t know. Alex understood this, I think.
He was propped up on his elbows, staring out at the sea.
“I know you may never answer it, Jonfen, but I will inquire of you again, why it is that you do not allow such things as love in your stories?”
“I only wrote about love that couldn’t exist.”
“Is it in your opinion that love can never be released?”
Do you know that I am the Gypsy girl and you are Safran?
“Alex … what did your last letter mean?”
“It meant what I wrote.”
“What do you want me to do?” I cast the question out of my mouth before I could decide not to, half-eyeing his expression, inscrutable in the dark. I always feel like there’s something incomplete, which he sees and I don’t. He has a different sort of knowledge of the world than I do. He knows who people are. “You signed it … differently.”
“Must I really inform you of that?”
There was a long silence, one which frightened me profoundly.
“I love you, Jonathan.”
That was an English phrase he’d heard too many times to butcher, words whose ubiquity rendered them lighter than feathers, weaker than a beam of sunlight. But somehow, Alex made them new again. It was his voice.
I cannot find any words. I cannot find any way to release them.
“Jonfen, I will tell you that you are the only one I do not have to present not-truths to. I do not have to try to be understanded -- I mean, understood. And I do not want you to do anything. I know that for you it is not the same.”
“Even a … whisper ..” And understanding even a whisper of another human being is a rare thing in this world.
Do you not comprehend that we can bring each other safety and peace?
“Are you distressed by this?” And then, in a quiter tone than I’ve ever heard him use, “Are you distressed by me?”
His hand, splayed out on the sand … does he want me to …? I lay mine against it, and they overlap slightly, plunging just a little deeper into the sand.
He looks up at me with an expression of shock, which dissolves into a sort of contentment. I avoid his eyes, and look up at the sky. I see the stars.
“No longer under Sabine’s dress, hm?”
I smiled. “No …” Maybe I no longer need to be.
Title: A Whisper of You
Word count: 697
Summary: "You are the only person who has understood even a whisper of me, and I will tell you that I am the only person who has understood even a whisper of you."
Rating: Um ... cavity-inducing-ly sweet.
Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing them ...
The beach was beautiful that night, just like Alex said it would be. I wonder if this unreality had already begun to seep into my sleepy brain, I wonder if it was here, in the Ukraine, or if I merely assigned it to this place. Have there ever been as many sunflowers anywhere as there were at Augustine’s house in Trachimbrod? Have there ever been more novels? More Trachimdays, filled with floats, more beaches like this, with sand softer than a woman’s hair? Have as many people fallen in love anywhere else, and have there ever been this many sadnesses?
It’s not as if he’ll give me any answers. I indulge him with dreams, and he’d gladly re-feed them to me, but these dreams of the destroyed shtetl are ours to be contemplated or lost in, but not to cheapen. I wish they could be true, I wish things were just like I wanted them to have been. He doesn’t want to talk about my stories anymore. He wants things to be perfect for my ancestors, and for us, but our perfections don’t match up. I can’t erase 1942, make it so that we found Augustine, give Safran two arms, or let Brod love. It isn’t life.
“The beginning of the world often comes,” I say aloud, without knowing. There are so many phrases, words, names, and they all fall down so easily. Lipstick messages on the ceiling.
You are Jonathan. You love Alex.
The world is always re-newing itself. The past is sealed in amber, but we can shine light through, and see things exactly as they were. Right now was a beginning, but of what, I didn’t know. Alex understood this, I think.
He was propped up on his elbows, staring out at the sea.
“I know you may never answer it, Jonfen, but I will inquire of you again, why it is that you do not allow such things as love in your stories?”
“I only wrote about love that couldn’t exist.”
“Is it in your opinion that love can never be released?”
Do you know that I am the Gypsy girl and you are Safran?
“Alex … what did your last letter mean?”
“It meant what I wrote.”
“What do you want me to do?” I cast the question out of my mouth before I could decide not to, half-eyeing his expression, inscrutable in the dark. I always feel like there’s something incomplete, which he sees and I don’t. He has a different sort of knowledge of the world than I do. He knows who people are. “You signed it … differently.”
“Must I really inform you of that?”
There was a long silence, one which frightened me profoundly.
“I love you, Jonathan.”
That was an English phrase he’d heard too many times to butcher, words whose ubiquity rendered them lighter than feathers, weaker than a beam of sunlight. But somehow, Alex made them new again. It was his voice.
I cannot find any words. I cannot find any way to release them.
“Jonfen, I will tell you that you are the only one I do not have to present not-truths to. I do not have to try to be understanded -- I mean, understood. And I do not want you to do anything. I know that for you it is not the same.”
“Even a … whisper ..” And understanding even a whisper of another human being is a rare thing in this world.
Do you not comprehend that we can bring each other safety and peace?
“Are you distressed by this?” And then, in a quiter tone than I’ve ever heard him use, “Are you distressed by me?”
His hand, splayed out on the sand … does he want me to …? I lay mine against it, and they overlap slightly, plunging just a little deeper into the sand.
He looks up at me with an expression of shock, which dissolves into a sort of contentment. I avoid his eyes, and look up at the sky. I see the stars.
“No longer under Sabine’s dress, hm?”
I smiled. “No …” Maybe I no longer need to be.