Memories from the future

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Teenaged love isn't always a waste of time, is it?

Submitted: May 16, 2012

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Submitted: May 16, 2012

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For a second, the world seemed still. And it was nice while it lasted, because it wasn’t often that she felt the weight was gone. The past few days had been busy and hectic, and it was nice to just lay there in a moment of complete perfection. She laughed to herself for a while when she realised that he was the only person she felt this with. She stared at her arm - which for some reason suddenly seemed skinny and fragile - and followed down it with her eyes until they rested on her hand, the fingers of which were entwined within his soft curls. His face was peaceful, and the lines of worry that usually lay on his forehead were gone, so she kissed the smooth space that replaced them and smiled. The lips that were previously sending out messages of hope and optimism were now slightly parted and silent, except for the quiet, rhythmic snores that made him seem so untouchable. His arm was resting lightly on her stomach, and for once she didn’t feel conscious of it at all, for it seemed as though it were meant to be there. She wanted nothing more than to tell him what he meant to her, but she had no idea what to say, and it was pointless anyway, as he was sound asleep, and she couldn’t bear to break the comforting silence. She let a single tear roll down her cheek as a mark of her happiness, in a feeble attempt to telepathically ask him to stay, and to try to promise him that she was going to get better for him; for them, so that they could go on to be the people they deserved to be – happy. She stroked his jaw bone gently, up and down; slowly as so not to wake him, but at just the right speed so she knew that he’d feel it in his dreams, or at least feel as though she’d wiped some of the negative thoughts away. He was so quiet, so beautiful, and although he was older than her, she felt as though he were merely a child, and it was her duty to protect him; to keep his innocence sheltered from people that could corrupt it, such as herself. She started to realise that this wasn’t just love anymore; this was so much more than that. What she felt for him was indescribable, and the word ‘love’ seemed too distant, too overused and too small to mean anything anymore. She wanted something bigger to say to him, so he could be speechless, and just lay there smiling. Not the kind of smile that lasted a few seconds, but the kind of smile that wasn’t just a gesture, but a feeling. A smile that takes over everything. A smile that sends a wash of happiness over you, as though you have no control over your muscles, and you find yourself hugging the person you love so tight, without remembering the movement from one place to the other. She put her forehead against his and began to think of the future.

She thought of how she wished for nothing more than for it to just be her and him. Of course, there were other people in her life who she respected, but it was different with him, for she admired him. She adored him. She aspired to be like him. And so, the thought of being alone with him in the wide world made everything seem better. She liked the thought of coming home from a hard day’s work to find him there, waiting. She could take the bus home from work, and walk through various fields until she got to the gate of their house, and walk up the four paving stones to the wooden door. She’d dig into her pockets to find the stupid keyring that they bought on their travels the year before, and attached to it would be the key to their front door. And if, for some reason, she wasn’t able to find it, she’d pick up the green wellington boot sat on the front step, and sure enough, under there would lay a rather muddy, but somehow still shiny, key. She’d slip it into the keyhole, and sure enough, when she opened the door, the dog would jump on her and practically knock her over. She’d see his coat chucked on the floor in the manner that he always threw his jumpers on her bedroom floor, and she’d smile, before shouting, ‘Oliver! What have I told you about leaving your things on the floor?! Get down here right now and pick it up, or you’re grounded for a year, and that includes the cancellation of breakfast!’, to which he’d come running down the stairs in a purple jumper, white shirt, black trousers, with his hair in a cute mess on top of his head, and put on an act. ‘No breakfast?! Fine, I’ll pick it up, but don’t expect it not to happen again.’ And he’d go to pick up his coat, but instead pull her in by the waist and give her the I’ve-been-missing-you-and-thinking-about-you-all-day-at-work kiss that she’d been waiting for. She’d put on the kettle, and they’d sit at the dining table of their small house drinking tea and eating toast, talking about their day. They’d bitch about colleagues, cry about hard times, and laugh at funny anecdotes from their seemingly normal days. Of course, being the freaks that they are, no day would ever be normal. One day she might be lucky enough to have enough money so they could walk into town and buy a huge roll of bubblewrap. Then, in the summer, they’d walk up to the hill around the corner, wrap themselves in it, and roll down the hill, laughing at the popping sounds as they made their journey to the bottom. If it wasn’t sunny enough to do that, they’d make dinner together, or, if they couldn’t be bothered, order in a pizza and watch films. They might fall asleep on the sofa, or make their way upstairs and have some fun in the bedroom before going to bed. And she’d know it was all going to be amazing when she woke up, because there he’d be, next to her, snoring softly as he always did.

When he stirred, she came out of the future and back to reality. He smiled sleepily at her, stretched, and then hugged her so tightly, she was sure he would break her ribs. But she didn’t care, because his hugs were what she looked forward to most. Sometimes, she wished he never had to go home, just so that she could fall asleep next to him. She always seemed to sleep better when he was there, and she liked how safe he made her feel. At times she felt so vulnerable, but if he was there, everything would go, and she’d be warm and safe; untouchable. She liked to feel untouchable. She tried to think of something to say to him that would make him feel as invincible as she did in that moment, but couldn’t think of anything other than ‘I love you’. Those three words, however, were nowhere near enough. Nowhere near what she really wanted to say. Her friends often told her that it was only physical, or wouldn’t last, and she refused to believe them. From the outside, this was a teenage relationship. From the inside, it was so much more than that. It was a friendship. It was hope. He was hope. He was her best friend, and there wasn’t a thing he didn’t know about her. She liked to be able to open up to him so easily about things that no one else had even heard of, let alone from her. He was the reason she still knew how to smile, and just the thought of him made her stomach turn a million times over. In a way, however, it made her sad. It made her sad because he’d never know exactly how she felt. She’d never be able to explain to him just how beautiful he was, and it made her want to cry. Perhaps ‘I love you’ was enough, she didn’t know. But all she did know was that whatever it was that she felt was so much more than love. It was devotion. And that was something she used to be so afraid of. He definitely had to be someone special to help her conquer her fears. He’d saved her, and he didn’t even know. She was so in love with him.


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