I am ... I am such a hopeless romantic that it isn't even funny.
I'm not really sure what warnings I can give. I guess, since the genders are never really specified, since it's a dramatic monologue, it can be anything really. I meant for it to be hetero, for once, but anyone is free to take their own interpretation. And um ... I guess this is ... some odd form of necrophilia ...? I don't know; I think he's dead, because that was my original intent but it kind of morphed into ... another universe?
I really have to quit trying to understand what I write. Gives me a headache.
One warning that I can give is non-explicit sex. That's why it's rated what it's rated, because I'm paranoid to an extreme.
"If you put a letter of prayer in the mailbox, God will deliver it."
Looking back, it sounds so foolish, so immature, that I scold myself every time I think of it. But it really can't be helped, not when every little thing said sends all hopes flaring high that maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to see you again.
Two weeks have passed. Two weeks since I overheard a woman telling this to a little boy who lost his dad. Two weeks since I rushed home, scrambling around for pen and paper, writing down what I never had the chance to tell you in person. Two weeks of sitting by the post office, letting snow melt on my skin, waiting. But for what?
What could I have written so that my words leave more than just an echo?
You're there, and I'm here. Two worlds, nothing connecting them except for the shackles that bind me to you. I wonder if it's like a one way mirror; can you see me? Hear my pleas? Feel my tears? I suppose you can't.
I give up. If there really is a God up there, apparently He turned his back on me. I lay in bed, contemplating this, wondering what I did to deserve such abandonment, when there's a knock at the door.
"Go away." I call, voice raspy and unused, cracking beneath the weight of grief. It sounds again, the same, persistent knocking. A sigh wrenches itself from my lips as I get up, stumbling for the door. May as well answer it. "I thought I told you to …" My breath hitches. "Just what kind of joke are you playing?"
This … Can't be real. It can't be you. Please, don't just be a dream!
A wry smile curves the stranger's lips as the snow still swirls around him. His hands, encased in gloves much resembling your own reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a single sheet of folded paper.
My knees buckle and I grab the wall for support, backing away slowly. "No. You're not him. You can't be him." I practically sob out, turning and fleeing into the house, back into my bed, the sheets still warm as I hide myself between them.
The bed dips as you sit beside me, tugging the blankets gently from my grip. A piece of my long brown hair was twisted around long slim fingers and your husky tenor breaks the silence. "I always said you looked beautiful with it long. You never listened and kept it short."
"That's why I refused to cut it since I got here. Though it made me cry every time I saw it." I whispered, sitting up and wiping the tears from my eyes. I look up into your dark eyes, clouded by affection, "How … how did you get here?"
There's no answer, only a gentle hand that grazed my cheek, gentle lips that brushed my temple before I jerk awake. I look around my dark twilit room, only to sigh in disappointment when I realize you aren't there. So it was all a dream after all …
I look at the nightstand and my gaze falls upon a folded up jacket and two notes. One of them my letter, with a note scribbled on the back,
"Doesn't matter where you are, I'll always be there beside you." I blush and tuck the note into my pillow, taking the other one, the one that was attached to the neatly folded jacket. "You seem to have caught a cold. Make use of this." I blink in surprise, before sneezing loudly into my lap.
Getting up, I decide to go to the park, maybe get my mind off you. I trade my pajamas for jeans and a sweater, combing my hair back into a braid, throwing on the black coat you left and heading out the door.
The next time you appear there is a feral desperation, deep beneath the surface of my skin, bubbling and festering. You hold me and I cry, and your shirt is wet and clinging to you and all I can do is sniffle and apologize.
You shake your head and laugh at me, kissing me so softly that I start to cry anew. I can feel you, hard and firm and real against me, warm as you push me down onto the sheets that seem so cold in comparison to you.
Snow swirls calmly outside, urged by the wind that howls, but it can't be heard over the silence and the panting breaths that part my lips and ghost over yours as you make quick work of our clothes, letting them pile onto the floor. There's a pause and a stare. No movement as the tension mounts and mounts and becomes so heavy that it's positively unbearable.
Something snaps and your lips meet mine and tangle as you part my thighs. It hurts and stings and I hiss, or maybe it was you, but you wait for a nod, which never really comes. But you move anyway and there's nothing.
Nothing beyond the creaking of the bed in the eerily still morning and the panting breaths and cut of moans. It's been a long time and it doesn't take long for me to arch against you, clutching and my every movement is coloured by desperation and shaded with relief and it doesn't take long for you, either.
And then it's warm, wet stomach on warm, wet stomach and your fingers tracing something into the swell of my hip and it's comforting and I don't want this to end. But soon it's too much and the Sandman wins me over and the last thing that I see is you, and you're smiling just like always.
But when I wake up, you're gone again.
Snow covered the ground, ice encased the pond. No one was in sight as I sat on the park bench, head in my hands, crying softly. Why did you go back? How can you leave me here and not tell me how to get back …?
It's hard to go back to normal, tumble headlong into old routines, act like nothing happened, nothing changed. In essence, nothing had changed. I'm still here, you're still there. Even if you managed to come here for a few minutes, doesn't mean anything changed, except for the fact that I knew you could come.
Tear after tear slips down my cheek, icy cold in the frigid air, feeling like they could freeze to my very flesh. I wipe them away angrily, looking up at the sky, painted an inky black, trying to count the stars, attempting to figure out which one you're on.
It's become a new routine now, replacing the ritual going to the post office every morning; every night, exactly at midnight, I would sit on the same bench, wrapped in the black coat, staring at the night sky.
After the thirteenth night of this, just as I turned to leave, I see you, standing, leaning against a tree, arms folded across your chest. You see me, and your arms outstretch, letting me nestle between them, against your warmth.
"How did you get here? Magic?" I ask again, hoping that maybe this time I'll get a proper answer. "This isn't just a dream, is it?"
You chuckle. "No, it's not a dream." You pause, tilt your head as if waiting for the next answer to fall to the tip of your tongue. "I can't tell you. It might make it disappear, and if it does, I don't know if I could come back." I nod, making note not to ask again.
The last time I see you, is several years from then. I bump into you on the street, don't even recognize you at first. You grab me by the elbow and turn me around, and I offer nothing more than a simple 'good morning' and a bright smile as soon as I recognize you. I hug you tightly, handing you a neatly sealed envelope.
You look confused, as you open and read it, but then a bright smile crosses your face, and I show the ring on my finger, sparkling in the snowy sun. "I'm glad you finally let me go."
I shake my head once, pointing to the back of the letter, where was scribbled, in a handwriting not my own, "It's impossible to let go of the thing that once was the only thing that made us smile." I give you hug, bid farewell, and turn around, disappearing into the crowd.
I don't like this. I felt like posting because maybe someone else will enjoy this more than me. It was inspired by something that my aunt said to me long, long ago and that I just happened to remember.
Read and review? Pretty please?