Gone with the Golden rays

The light in this old fire place flickers, to the left, then to the right dancing to the tune of the breeze that roams the room. The night creeps in, accompanied by its companion that rustled waving words. The blazing blue-red is now threatened by the wind that hustles in through the window left open.

This very house where the fire flickers has only this fire as its light source. The fire barely hides the darkness of the night, but only cast the shadows of all the crawling creatures and every other life form absent. 

This room of the house to which the light flickers was lit by the darkness of the night. It had a shelf with books of men and women, who lingered in bed with each other, intertwined in their arms. Books about people who go running into the arms of another to find solace. It had books of lovemaking, of nights that stayed longer because of the wishes of those lovers that want a night that never dies. Books with stories similar to the life lived in this very room when it was filled with laughter, joy, and the scent of lovemaking.

This room where the light flickers has housed a story, one that may be told as those stories, those told on a moonlit night. One of those that made lovers heartbreak, the one that causes so much heartbreak you’d hold on to the hand that loves you so much. 

This house where the light flickers have the heavens looking down on it every night, the stars wishing upon their maker for a better life in there. This room where the light flickers have 3 armchairs, it has one armchair by the left, back against the window. Another by the right facing it, and a longer armchair in the middle; this armchair had a covering of red, with yellow flowers sketched upon it. The type of flower he often gave to her. The type is only mythical. One only a lover can gift, one nurtured by love first, then soil, one that never withers. One so rare not all could have it, even if they traveled a life’s journey in search. This armchair had more stories, of union between them, it witnessed all the promises made and felt the truth and will in every move. Felt the bond forged by commitment and vows made. 

This room where the light flickers has no table, not anywhere, not between the armchairs, no, nothing between the fire and the long armchair where she lay. Her elbow to the arm of the chair, and she was half seated and lying as she stretched her long legs to the length of the chair, her structure outlined by the thick blanket she covers herself with. She just sat there watching the light wave right and left, watched as it flickers, watched as the only light almost died,

 She is oblivious to all that happens. Unaware of what the world had to offer at that moment, as her mind offered her much better. The fire was sent flying into a long arm as the wind was against it. She saw it flicker, saw it almost die, its flames almost extinguished. She just looked and saw how it had no color that matched the caramel shade of his brown eyes. Nor was he a storm like this fire, nor did he blaze as it does.  

He was gentle like a midnight wind; he was as gentle as the touch of a morning sun, right after a rainy cold night. He was quiet, peaceful. His peace was transmissible as the cold of a misted morning clouded by the droplets. It put even the early birds in a still and tranquil state. He was like condensed dew on a glass, where you could trace your love on him and he would accept, giving back the beautiful shape traced. His smile was formed as gently as the dew drops sliding down a glass window, the way it raised his cheekbones higher, the way his eyes narrowed. 

 She felt his presence behind her. She turned to see him standing behind her. He was beautiful just like right now. She saw his smile, curved to half of a moon. his body high she tilted her head back to see his tall structure. He walked and sat where my legs were once stretched. He lowered his body down and turned his face to hers, he stretched his hands, his finger long and elegant. He touched her cheek his hands were cold as the winter wind, she looked at the fireplace and saw the fire dim as the cold breeze whooshed through and sent her flames far away apart. She stands up, walking to the window she sees the stars and moon staring In, looking with such pity on their faces. She shut the windows to their twinkles and against the night, and she knelt to tend the fire, a touch and a little breathe from her lips and it came back alive. She stretched her palm into the fire, and she felt the warmth of the fire, the warmth reaching her heart, a reminder of what it felt like before the flames in her died. But the heat only kept her hands warm; it wasn’t enough to warm her heart. She turned to see his eye upon her, his gaze never left her from the moment she left his side, like her very own shadow his eyes were always by her. He gave a smile that captures his brown eyes in a glass, making them appear like brown gems against the darkness. It didn’t glitter or shimmer. It was a subtle contrast to the darkness. Her heart twitched and hurt at the image that was once within her reach. The way his elbows were on his knee and lap as he slanted forward in a straight way. And they just stayed that way for a while, looking at each other, their minds blank, their breaths steady and their hearts beating at the only pace they could. And after a while, he leans backward against the chair. She gets up and returns to him this time sitting closer than she was. Her eyes were still on him, and like a magnet, his arms were drawn to her face. He touches her just the way he used to, her eyes closed as she felt every move. He came closer and placed a kiss on her, the way he always did, right between her cheek and her lips, as if he was uncertain where exactly he wanted to kiss first. He reached forward and picked up the blanket and wrapped it around her, like he always covered her when she slept without them, knowing she was always cold. Then he took one of her hand into his and concealed it between his two hands way bigger than hers, and his gazes upon her face. 

She remembers it too well, how he took care of her, he was her protector, her guardian angel, and her lover. Her eyes still marred by the endless nights of crying. Aching, hurting from the mourning from the last night, and the previous one, and the one before that, and all the way to that day. The outline of her eyes quickly turned red as soon the river came washing through. He faded behind the tears, she tightened her hold of his hand and wiped her eyes quickly with her other hand, her hands now imbrued by the tears. He came even closer to her, his hands wiping the tears on her face, he pulled her in and place a kiss on her forehead, and again he kissed her at the bridge between her lip and cheek and then another on her “red rosy lips” he used to say they were.

“Come, come” he would say most gently, and she would go to him because she belongs with him. He would place her between his thighs and kiss her right, and she would lean against his chest, broad and structured. Her head would fit perfectly under his chin where she would rub her forehead against. And he would fondle her and hold her well. They were two lovers who the world couldn’t tear apart if they tried.

He would say, “Tell me a story”, a happy one he’d ask for.

He would fall asleep while listening, but it wasn’t the story that sent him to a placid sleep, nor was it the happy endings that let him into a world of joy and colors. It was her voice that was the sound of peace. Her voice was the tune of life to him, and the song his heart beats to. Her beauty was the face of life, and her femininity was the beauty of creation. She would stop the story after he had fallen asleep, but it would only last awhile before he washes over the ecstasy and the sound of the world would awaken him, and he would come with a pleading kiss for more. And I will tell many more stories to him, none of which he remembered. 

Between the cracks and crevices came them. The golden rays begin to slip in calling to him. She knew it was until the next night. The light outlines his face better. She looked and saw the way he looked less of himself, the little changes in the way she got a few details different. How every night he came, he looked one bit different. Oh! Would she ever forget? Forget who she is? Who she is made for? Forget him? Taking a good look he looked at her long, and then slowly the rays like a laser beam began to turn him into pixels. “I love you” she whispered before he was completely gone, turning into golden pixels and away through the cracks he left. And the sun rose to a woman on an armchair, with her heart tearing to pieces. It rose to a dead fire that burnt through the night, ashes with a tale locked within them, a story of a night spent alone with a lover. And the sun rose again to a woman who had lost the only love she had, who lost what she searched for all her life, although unaware she was searching. The love she couldn’t find in family, lost in friendship. She lost the best part of her. She lost her love that was like the waves of the sea, the gentle ripples of a stream, and the soothing scent of Lavender.