In her arms

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

This one is gonna hurt, no lies.

In her arms


I woke up, with her draped around me like my favorite cashmere sweater, and I don’t own one.

Every bone, every muscle, fit. Like puzzle pieces. You can see the picture we made in your mind. If you really know what imagining was meant to be. I can close my eyes anytime I want and it’s easy, I think that you’d have to try very hard, at least that’s the impression you give; but some small, mean part of me knows in its cold, stone heart…that you won’t. You won’t even try to imagine.

You’ll miss it, like a bus, or an elevator. You’ll tell yourself, falsely, that another will be along in a minute, and that lie, could only be believed by you. With your busy ways, and noncommittal moments.

I’m here to tell you, that you’d be wrong. Some moments were meant to last forever, and there is not a busy moment on this earth that will take away from that.

I believe in that, but you don’t have to… and I can understand if it hurts too much, I really can.

But don’t listen to me, what the hell do I know? I’m just a guy, and this is just a dream that I have.

I finish kissing her neck, and she barely stirs, it’s a comfort to her, not an intrusion… but when I brush my lips across hers… part of her awakes, the part that doesn’t have a question, of why, or when, time and space have no meaning in this realm. And she kisses me back, with meaning, and an absence of all inhibition, and she’s still partly asleep.

And at this moment she knows love, and in this moment, I do too, and that’s all we need.

Then the minnie shows up, bouncing and chattering, full of love and absent of doubt or any form of hard-hearted knowledge. A pure being, the way we were all meant to be.

She comes tumbling in like a tornado, that smells like hope, and feels like butterfly feet, walking across that special spot in your heart, the one you tend to try not to share.

And she doesn’t just walk, she strides, this is her territory and she knows it.

The moment she arrives, is like that moment in really good sci-fi movies, when the mother ship shows up, and casts an all-encompassing shadow over everything.

But it’s not a shadow, it’s the light like a blind man would see it for the first time.

See it and believe it, an agnostic in the presence of God’s benevolence.

Hope striving and straining against doubt, so fucking much doubt…

But his hope, and her tiny hand in his, tears the doubt asunder, and the hope falls through, a waterfall of rainbows and the sweet taste of good dreams.

As his heart fills, and his hand warms, and hope springs once again in his agonized soul… he turns his head to the sky. To thank the universe, for letting him have this one diamond moment…


And then he wakes…

And the pillow next to his is cold, and hasn’t been used in at least a year…

And he will never hear her tiny footsteps again… not since the accident that took them both.

He starts to cry, and it’s a cry that would take a miracle to stop… and then the miracle happens.


He wakes again, and it’s wintertime now, and being a bike courier in the winter sucks, like nobody knows, and waking up in a single-sized air mattress, tucked into the corner of his buddy's basement sucks even more. And knowing, his being there was against the wishes of his friends hard-hearted parentism, this is a rude awakening at the best of times… but this is not one of those times.

This hurts like he’s never known pain before. The pain of loss, the helplessness of pure despair, and something else… a longing for something that may be beyond his reach.

He can still feel the warmth of her neck on his lips, even though he’s never felt it before, and may never feel it in this life. The question arises, unbidden in his mind: Is it better to have loved and lost, or this. This loneliness, this ache that is now burning like the sun in his chest, a gaping hole filled with molten lava, where his heart should be.

He may never feel, the warmth of that neck, or the trusting grip of that tiny hand in his.

The End.

Submitted: October 06, 2021

© Copyright 2021 chrispy. All rights reserved.

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