:On Mirages & Actuality

You get a heartache in most cases –but this one was different.  I felt her entire body take over my mind.  My chest no longer racing against the clock; rather heaving up and down in time with hers.  I felt my hands stiffen in quiet wait –as if to beckon her to change.  She was no longer my figment.  My peace of mind; she had become my same.  We were connected at the waist in so many ways.  I felt her shudders in the deep of the night.  I knew the moon had looked the same for us both –but how we were so far apart.

 Even to this moment –this very typing and striking away at letters that do not fit my mold; I see her.  Cuddled up against the cold of a pillow…in the heat of the night.  I can see pass the glare and the car lights that play with my ceiling.  All now I look for is the tiny cove in her back.  The subtle curve from her nose to her upper lip.  I was captivated by the thought that she could be here too.  Yet I knew; even if my mind had lost itself and only my desires could take form.

That my truth was still better now than it has ever been.  I was seeking and had found.  Taking in all the scenery of a beauty so fine.  Grounded down to the basics.  The quaint getaway I grew to love in her wake. So here we are I said to her.  And she did not move an inch.  I cried that night –more than ever before.  And I knew when I woke.  She’d be no more.

: A Love Story

I close my eyes, not to shut out the image of her but to preserve it.  I must lock it deep within myself as to never forget that this is what I own, a part of something bigger, of love.  I have honestly let this exact touch slip my mind.  Yes, it has been every day that I have thought of our bodies and the motions of our flesh creating a symphony of waves, but the thought is nothing compared.  To hold her hand now is like to never hold it again.  My skin retreats inside of itself and lets my actual nerves surface as to get the full on effect.  My body knows that this rare favor might in fact be far and few in between, so it lashes my moans onward and permits every sense I own to strengthen double over.  To hold her now, as I do recall that I have before, is like the very first time and my mind is etching every single tiny detail against something more than just my memory, which seems to be my entire existence.  I feel her lips swipe across the air in front of mine and know that if I do not experience this sensation again, I will die from lack thereof.  I have my own heart, but she is the beat.  I have my own eyes, but she is the blink.  Without her my life would be impossible; so I close my eyes to preserve this.  To never forget and always remember that this is who I am.

Her voice travels beneath my own heavy breath and I call her name.  “Sacha, Sacha.  Love me now.  Leave me never again.”  Without the utter passion I attach to them, each sentence would be incomplete.  They are merely fragments that would amount to nothing without the earnest serenity of my voice.  “Sacha, Sacha.”

“I am here.”  Her words escape themselves.  They fold over and over unto each letter consisted within, until they are nothing more than air.  “I am here,” she says again but this time more appropriately curt.  She wants me to know.  She wants me to understand that her body is all she can give.  For her to be anything more than here would leave her own sense abolished.

I become lost in the thought.  I think back to before, when we used to lie in bed together.  “Come here.”  I’d say it so softly that it never really occurred to me that I expected a real response.  She would always be two inches away, well within my grasp. “I am here,” she would explain, annoyed by my exaggerated encroachment. “You know what I mean” would be all I could say, because I would want so much more from her than just time and touch, I would and still want all that entails her.

Sacha’s fingers scrap the back of my head with a gentle tug that pulls me back to reality.  I can see her but not in the way I want.  With the lights off and only the music floating around with our moans, it is a task to make out the face I have memorized.  Our bodies are cloaked in the dark glow of a room absent of light but not quite surrounded by full nightfall.  I still cannot believe she is near me…touching me nonetheless.  It is like a thousand of my dreams are being played back to back to form an all out mirage of an event.  I miss her so.  To hold and kiss and love her now unlike I have ever been able to express before is leaving my eyes cloudy and showing the room to be darker than I imagined.

I roll back and forth on top of her, a position she has grown accustomed to and obviously has not forgotten.  She misses it just as much as I and the pleasures bounding us to commit such love-filled lustful acts are rising slightly and surely.  I can see her face clinch.  She gapes her mouth open in an unfashionable, unladylike manner that turns me on and makes me rock faster.  She’s grabbing at my hips, controlling only the image in her head and not my actual body; and then she is finished just as quickly as it all began. I bob my thighs in hopes to begin again like a frantic child atop one of those machine horses in front of grocery stores.  I have run out of coins and no matter what my own wild movements consist of, she will not begin again.  We toss around for a few more minutes; just enough for me to cum, but that is it.  And it is all over.  All of it.

The next morning is the worst morning in my life.  I wake to the sound of shuffling feet through the hallway, and I know they are not Sacha’s.  She left the night before…while I was asleep, dreaming about how I was going to cook her eggs the next morning.  I heard her moseying around the bedroom, kicking through discarded clothes, surely looking for her bra.  But I was hopeful, thought maybe she was just getting dressed to go to the bathroom.  She never flushed the toilet or reopened my bedroom door.  All the while, I dreamt, my mind remaking love to her with my eyes closed and her departure playing in the background as my soundtrack.

“Are you awake in there?”  It is my mother.  She must have let herself in with the spare key I gave her a couple of months ago.  My apartment is less than ten blocks from the hospital she works for; so I told her to make it as if it were her own.  Sometimes she’ll come over between double shifts to shower and grab something to eat; but more than anything she likes to stop by and catch a morning detective show she became addicted to years before.  Ever since my brother and I moved out she tells me there is no use for cable television.

Her head peers in, I am naked still.  “Come on, it’s about to start in a few.”  I look over at the adjacent pillow, no Sacha.  I wave my mother away so I can get dress.  Honestly, I just want to cry myself back to sleep; maybe the night before was a dream and I can pick back up where my mind left off.  I reconsider and instead don a pair of hospital scrubs that I never seem to run out of.  I walk down the cold hallway and find my mother nearly passed out on the couch, the TV blinking and the volume low.  I give her a blanket and decide to make her three scrambled eggs instead…after all she is the only woman that I will always have.