Memento to a Memory
Companion Piece to Red Suns
Sometimes he would tell me that we have nothing to fear; that what we had now was everything and every piece of the world. I would laugh and tell him that he was being silly, just like his sweet silly whispers of lovely breath and lovely memories. He was as sweet as cherry snow and as warm as homemade apple meringue pie. His thoughts and dreams reminded me of fresh peaches that had just been cut and dipped into warm vanilla cream. I told him that once and he laughed his milky laugh, giving me one of his chocolate kisses that left my toes tingling.
He would protect me from this world we lived in, with his hopes and prayers if nothing else. I was sheltered from the outside with his love for me. He would always make sure I was not distraught or otherwise depressed. He would hold me warmly during the cold, diamond frosted winter nights. And when we made love my body would arch, the stars would brighten and sing as the air would warm and smell of sweet daffodils in springtime.
It was always magical when I was with him. The days always seemed longer, the sun always brighter, music always chimed perfectly, as though heaven were in my ears, the colors eccentric in their vividness, the snow always the sweetest syrupy sugar. He made everything deliciously calm and peaceful, even as the world was tumbling, tumbling down all around us in broken glass-filled dreams. I don't know how he ever managed it, but he always made the best of things in our poor little world.
He had a full head of long, soft, bouncy curls of midnight delight that framed his face heavenly, and which would have looked ridiculously atrocious on anyone else. His eyes were a deep evergreen forest that made my head whirl every time I were to gaze into them. He was strong with big hands, powerful arms and legs, and with a sense of knowledge that made a poignant difference in every situation. He was the perfect contrast to my taller, leaner, honey eyed and wavy mocha chestnut haired self. Where he was richly dark and creamy mahogany handsomeness, I was pale skimmed milk and moonlit blue rivers of beauty.
As I wade in this murky, green pool that has become my existence, I notice that it is only half full, like a quarter moon just rising for nightfall. I wait for him, my soul mate, and love. Even as the days grow steadily longer and the breeze picks up a frosty tang from the moon goddesses' tears of snow, I wait. I know he will come back to me and will share his findings, and achievements in calming the rebel underground cities. In time I know everything will be okay. I dare not question my poor, lemon soured beliefs for the small chance that my heart will actually betray me and my ears do not hear his lily white promises and my lips do not taste his sweet sugary lips… But as the memories fade…I lose a part of him and myself with each passing day…no matter how strong I cling to the delectably silken things. The more time goes by and the more I lose track of where I have place my dimming hope my reason takes over to fill my worst doubts and I become grotesquely afraid. However, my payer to the twin goddesses stays the same and shall never change: Please, my dearest and purest of saviors bring my dark general home to me… For I will wait until my frail wishes and prayers have been granted and I am finally able to gaze into his evergreen eyes and kiss those luscious chocolate lips.