/

Here it comes again: you are up too early or maybe she sleeping for far too long, but your eyes are open before the dawn makes an appearance and she is dead to the world still.
And it is with increasing frequency that you find yourself like this, staring until you can see better in the hazy darkness, staring until you can follow the slope of her cheek and staring until you can see where her hair falls over her bare shoulder and staring until your own eyes hurt with the lack of blinking.
You feel like a stalker. You feel like a freak. You feel like the best course of action would be to get up, put on your jeans and your shirt and run the fuck away.
And fast. So fast that you'd leave marks on the floor, the fire under your feet enough to char the floor-boards.

But here it comes again: you are awake and she is not and the thing you've wanted most has now happened. She wrapped her soft fingers around your wrist and pulled you down onto her body and you fell as though you had been shot, as though you had been killed, as though you had been waiting for her victory all this time.
And, yet, you got more than you bargained for. You got more than you anticipated. You got what you used to believe in and that scares you so much and how can anyone sleep after getting all they have ever wanted?
How can she slumber away? How can she look so peaceful? How can she be so calm when you are silently panicking?

And, yet, here it comes again: you are here and so is she and bare flesh is so close, close enough to be touched and you can't help but reach out.
Reach out and feel her. Reach out and taste her. Reach out and hold her. Reach out and claim this woman you've been pursuing, but never thinking you'd actually catch.
Doubting Thomas. Nervous Nelly. You can't call yourself Chatty Cathy, though. That's her, sleeping and beautiful her, lips sealed as you ache to speak and still do not know what you'd say if given half the chance.
So, you reach out and you lay your hand against her arm and she turns away, but she tugs you along with her.
And maybe she is dreaming. And maybe she thinks you are someone else.
But maybe, just maybe, it is you she is eager to rest with.
Maybe it is you she is wanting with eyes closed, too.

/

Love is a word you've not said. Love is a notion you've not allowed. Love is a thing, a bright and beautiful and dark and dangerous thing.
And you've spent all your life hiding from its gaze, you've spent all your days narrowly escaping its teeth.
You've avoided the traps and the snares. You've kept love at bay, shifting on your itchy feet and wringing your sweaty hands.
You've kept love on tenter-hooks, haven't you?

So, love is a word you've not uttered. Love is a notion you've not experienced. Love is a thing, a sweet and terrible and amazing and wicked thing.
And you've spent so much time, so many hours and minutes and seconds, fleeing that volcano of affection.
That flood of want. That hurricane of need. That blizzard of longing.
You've side-stepped that bad dancer and that prom-night song. You've kept love at arm's length, wary glance in your eyes and always leaving the door open.
You've kept love on hold, haven't you?

Love.
It is a word.
And you don't speak it, you don't write it, you don't sing about it.
Love.
It is a notion.
And you don't feel it, you don't sense it, you don't believe in it.
Love.
It is a thing.
And you watch it come to life, watch it blink and yawn and stretch, watch it flutter softly and turn your way, watch it smile at you as if you are still here.

And you are, surprisingly.
You are right here, in love, and you don't know how to do any of this. This love thing. This being in love thing. This loving someone thing.

But you are right here.
And love is a word you've not said.

But you might.
This morning... you fear you might do just that.
And will it come out nicely? Will it sound like a tree falling in a forest? Will this girl in this bed hear it? Will she say it in return? Will it leave your mouth like a whimper?
Like a whisper? Like a shout? Like a confession?
Will you say it like you mean it? Will you say it and then take it back? Will you say it and be shy and blush like a damn child? Will you say it at all or are you just kidding yourself?

Are you just stupid enough to think this thing you've never felt before will make any difference at all to anyone, much less to this girl beside you?

Love.
You don't know a single thing about it, but you are pretty sure you see it - as she leans up and kisses the corner of your lips - you are pretty sure it lives on her face.

/

And you sigh and you capture her cheek in your palm and you kiss her and she kisses you back and this is the morning where you fade from view.

And all you see is her and all you hear is her breathing and all you feel is the sensation of her skin against your own and this is the morning where you crash and burn.

And she runs her fingers through your hair and she laughs into your neck and she says your name so gently and this is the morning where you disappear like a ghost.

/

"You know what?"
"What?"
"I could probably spend all day here. With you."
"I wouldn't mind that..."
"You know what else?"
"...What?"
"Last night was... it was... it was really, really good."
"Ah, but you say that every time."
"I know. Because every time it is true."
"Well, what can I say? I am a true artist between the sheets."
"No... I mean, yes, but... but not just like that, you know...?"

She looks at you and you know you are not keeping secrets now and she can tell.
She can read you, a book in your timid stare, and she realizes what chapter the two of you are on.

She looks at you and you are revealed.
You are here.
And you belong to her.

"Yea... yea, I know exactly what you mean, Ash."

And she belongs to you.

/

-END-