My Darling

January 3rd, 2011.

This one has a little explaining behind it. I wrote it very early this morning whilst listening to Nuvole Bianche by Ludovico Einaudi and contemplating the thousands of things in my mind. And I thought of someone and for some reason this was the result. Just a little scene but I rather like it:

“My Darling,” he breathed. “May I have this dance?”

She rose with sudden uncertainty. He drew closer to her whilst staring into her eyes as if a thousand stories were behind them, for a thousand stories were.

“Are you only dancing with me because I’m sick?” She questioned him.

Confidently he replied: “I would dance with you if you were sick or well, poor or rich, ugly or as beautiful as the world that surrounds us, rain or shine, night or day, by moonlight or sunlight, in the heat or in the frigid cold, in youth or in age…. I will be here dancing with you.”

As poetic and cliche their story may be, he slowly leans in, his dark eye still locked only on her forest-like ones, and he presses the warmth of his pink perfectly sculpted lips onto hers in such mild capacity. With her eyes closed now and his as well they continued feeling more and more. with each touch and each exchange of breath. His arms curled around her back and up to her face where he paused with a gentle kiss and spoke the words he himself never thought he would utter…

“You’re it, my Darling. You are my reason for moving, for living, for speaking, for thinking, for waiting, for dancing…” As tears began to fill her eyes and spill over onto to her pale sick cheeks she dropped to the ground in sudden exasperation…. and he joined her.

“You’re it, my dearest,” She gently said only to him. “You are my reason, my hope for getting better. Without you… I would have left years ago.”


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