i told him i loved him today.
it tickled my ears to hear my slightly shaky voice whisper into his. tickled my fancy to know just how much i meant it, too.
i love him.
every. single. inch.
he smiled, that heavenly and sometimes
mischievous look he gets when he knows he has a secret that no one else knows.
except
everyone knows i love him. they knew even before i knew. or at least before i was willing to admit it.
he looked satisfied, yet hungered for more. wanted me to feed him syrupy words until his ears melted.
and i did.
fed him my sugary sweet fantasies of he and i experiencing our rocket love, except unlike
stevie, we wouldn't stop. we wouldn't drop. he'd never drop me.
i took his hands in mine. beautiful hands. hands no one other than God's own secret garden could have constructed. such detailed beauty. down to his hands.
he hated when i called him beautiful. but what other word could be used to describe such a magnificent specimen? if he was not beauty's definition, then such a thing did not exist.
brown eyes pooling softly, two melted chocolate drops wrapped in a blanket of white. pristine white. as if they never saw even the smallest billow of smoke or the restlessness of a bad night's sleep.
rested and peaceful. everything about him was rested. and peaceful.
his skin was unlike any
i'd ever seen. and
i'm one that pays attention to the small things. the little dips, moles, tags, pimples, freckles. he has none. a beautiful canvas of brown, his skin is. smooth sailing, no
interruptions, as soft and as smooth as the day he was born in it.
that's impressive. and effortless.
he brought my favorite face closer, kissed the bronze skin of my shoulder.
he always said my shoulder, my left shoulder, had character. it was sassy.
i'd laugh, give him the arduous job of explaining how a shoulder could have anything but an arm attached.
his response was always something to the effect of it being between he and my shoulder. well, my left shoulder. my right one was quite bland, he would say naturally, as if we were talking about a boring coworker of his.
god, i loved him.
so much of myself went into this union, this pairing of two troubled hearts, two confused minds. so much. i would travel. travel so much that my traveling began paying for my traveling in the form of frequent
flyer miles.
he never really had a home. here, there, and on your couch was his regular residency.
and so i traveled.
wherever his heart led him, he'd be there a week later. his whimsical ideas would explode one atom at a time, lighting up his brain waves until he could no longer sit still. he had to DO. always doing. teaching. motivating. learning. helping.
i was dating a genius. i knew it too, way back then. from the first day his not-too-tall frame came into focus through the brown of my irises. i knew.
to see genius manifested in the flesh is a substantial event.
to be loved by it is monumental.
he kissed my shoulder again, whispered something to it in that dark voice he sometimes uses when he's feeling
particularly frisky.
his hands, his beautiful hands, moved along deliberately, carefully, examining every square of exposed flesh peeking out of my summer outfit. bright orange tank. blue jean shorts. hair messily flowing down my back.
the 'grow out' he called it. that frustrating stage when your hair is neither straight nor curly. that stage.
"you smell like paradise." he said, burying the bottom half of his face in the top of my crown, his hands still traveling my landscape.
he had picked out my new smell. ever so often i allowed him to pick my scent, any scent, that made him absolutely have to take a second whiff. a plot to never go a day without that subtle kiss from the two plush lips occupying that beautiful space on his face.
he could never come near my neck without meeting it with soft, butterfly kisses. they usually traveled down the unusually long length of it, then back up to my mouth, which eagerly awaited his final destination.
if it was the right connection at the right moment, which it usually was, that kiss would turn into an all out passionate, sometimes steamy, love scene.
all from a scent.
this time it was purple rain.
i laughed when he showed up at the checkout counter with the raindrop-shaped glass bottle full of deep purple liquid. he
laughed too, shrugged his shoulders. said he couldn't possibly pass up a bottle of perfume named after one of the greatest songs ever created by one of the greatest artists to ever create.
we laughed together. a lot. i liked it.
one of his most endearing qualities was his ability to extract the most genuine laugh from the furthest depths of me, even on the darkest of my days.
actually, i think it might have been
the most endearing quality.
to always be able to look forward to a smile in someone is a powerful thing.
a very powerful thing.
i leaned forward, met his soft lips with my own
pillowy pair. if such a thing as heaven existed, it was here. we were there. in this moment.
the deep breath that sighed from his being any time we were close like this, always made my heart flutter. sometimes it even stopped for a moment, picked back up when my brain reminded it that i could not live on his touch alone.
oh, but how sweet that would be. to be nourished and enlivened by his fingers, his mouth, his
mmm...
oh, how sweet that would be.
we made love that would make the movies envious. his thirst, his hunger for me was unlike anything
i'd ever experienced. we exchanged souls, then traded them back fervorously. falling in and out of
utopian streams of consciousness, we danced among the stars, our own private tango filling the beat. i was his addiction. his love drug. and he mine.
cause you know, we were both unequivocally ...dope.
** this was just a blurb of fiction i wrote during one of my many mind spills. lol. i was going to add to this and turn it into a short story... but i don't know. all opinions are greatly appreciated.thanks!hope all is fab and flyy!
