Sweet Dreams

We leaned into each other, so our foreheads touched. Then our noses, and you moved your head side to side, so they didn't just touch, but brushed against each other. I opened my eyes, to see how far away you still were– how much longer I’d have to wait– and, indeed, you hadn't come close enough to close the distance. So I said, sharing the breath you let out: You have to do it, though.

Was it because of my nerves, or the temperature of the room, that I became flushed? Fodder burned in the fireplace, but the wood had yet to ignite. Nevertheless, the light it gave, cast over this room a merigold hue, framed by thick black, where I could not see; it drew out from the depths of your colouring, all its warmth, to make your skin like carob and your lips like rosewood. I heard nothing, save the faint tantara of Louis Armstrong’s trumpet, in accompaniment of an arrhythmic pop of fire, and my muffled heartbeat; yet, somehow still nothing because you said nothing– until I watched those rosewood lips move, and finally you said: Do what?

And I repeated: You have to do it. Only I never finished my sentence, so I said you have to and then we kissed for the first time. 

The firewood cracked and the surge of light that followed, albeit seen only as a sheen of red from behind my eyelids, thickened these borders of black, as it passed. So when we parted, and my eyelids did part, I saw you, just you, spotlighted, and you held my gaze. The fire settled into a steady crackling, deep and hearty, like the voice of Ella Fitzgerald.

Night breezes seem to whisper:

I love you.

For want of words you pressed your face into my chest, and sighed. My heartbeat, constricted by this, and your heartbeat, constricted by my hands against your temple, bounded, overlapping sinus and cosine. 

I put my hands against your jaw, and tilted you up to kiss me. Then, somehow, overcome by grief, I began to gather all of you together, pull you up further up, up and into myself, so the top of your head displaced my cheek, and my arms wrapped fiercely over your pinched-together shoulders. Silence permeated through stagnant air. I did not loosen my grip. My lip, pressed into my cheek by your head, quivered under the pressure behind my eyes. My brows fell, my heart sank; deep into the pit of my stomach, wading through worry and panic and fear, into a sinkhole of tar-like dread: still, I did not loosen my grip. The fire flickered. My breath whistled through my narrowed nostrils, and you wheezed: It feels strange. And I said, what does? And you said,

Being Happy.

Can't you stay? And fire’s whisper seized.

Now I pursed my lips, and furrowed my brows, and clenched my jaw, as the music heightened, and Ella cried, and the fire burst forth, thinking, if i did not let you go, you could not leave; so I wrapped my legs around you, and ran my fingers through your hair, and caved in my torso, so the pressure in my chest would not build– but that it did, until my ears rang in crescendo and syncopation with hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me, so it became hard to breathe. And the tips of my fingers ached with melancholy. Your silence persisted, and אני מאמין– ani ma'amin– at once I knew that I would not have you.

Though, finally you broke the silence and said:

I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me– I could not loosen my grip. But my arms ached. I could not tell you, but I grew tired. Tired of you being away, tired of you needing time, tired of waiting. Through my embrace you said, it pains me that you are so patient. And I wanted to shout I'm not. I am a child, I am reckless: I will throw myself into the unknown and I will remain there until its whiplash snaps my neck.

Should these thoughts become known to you, for my sake, not for yours, you would sit up, and discover that, though I clung to you, nothing was stopping you from leaving. 

As it was, the fireflies and I lingered over this strait between us: sometimes caught in the sinkholes, other times warmed by a merigold sun; sweet dreams of us together relief to insistent longing.

Without you, what was there?

I was holding on for the both of us; by my sheer will, the dying fire persevered. 

It pains me, also, that I can't just fall in love. After you've fallen once, you tend to be more cautious when you walk… if love were vertigo, I'm on my feet and fighting it.

I took a deep breath, gathered all my courage on the tip of my tongue and said: Please fall?

When you said no, my strength left me, and there I hung, draped over you like a blanket. My arms once connected hand to wrist and wrist to hand, slid apart, until just my fingers met each other and interlocked; my concave chest convexed flush against yours, and I knew the thumping I felt was your heart, because mine was tired and blue, and did not pump blood any longer, just meekly pushed it about, like a crying child food

on its plate. I didn't let you go, Tadiwa, because I will take as much of you as you're willing to give me.

You could breathe easier now, but did not move; and so we stayed, suspended in stagnant uncertainty, relying on one another, but alone. What remained were the glowing embers in the fireplace kept alive by Ella’s desperation– and the lingering hope that time

will set them ablaze once more.