Love Love Love Love Love
ove so many things. That first bite of a piece of bitter dark chocolate, the cocoa grainy on my tongue, a hint of sweetness in the after-taste. Cold Champagne slipping down my throat, bubbles pricking my tongue. Clouds, the setting sun below turning them to motionless waves of lava.
My love for the world seems limitless. My heart breaks with its beauty: sunlight shining through a tree as it sways in the wind, momentary flashes of brightness hitting the ground.
Nature is so precious, very little else seems to matter. I don’t talk to anyone these days. I used to hold people so dear
—
dear, don’t forget to lock the door before you come to bed’, I say.’I won’t. Night, love.’, Brian replies.
I go upstairs into the bathroom. Brushing my teeth, I plan out tomorrow, thinking about the gardening that needs to be done, wondering what Brian will want for his supper. He might like fish for a change.
Going into the bedroom, I smooth down the quilt, then undress and take off my bracelet and wedding band. My pinkie ring has refused to come off since the first time I wore it, almost seventeen years ago, so I have to sleep with it on.
Getting into bed, I pull the covers over me. Out in the street I hear a bottle smash and some men laughing. Feeling safe in my house with Brian downstairs, I go to sleep
—
sleep is the only refuge. It takes away the longing and the pain and the sickness and most of all, the hope. Hope that she will call, say she’s made a mistake; or hope that we will meet by chance, and she will break down and confess her love; or hope that she will be in need of help only I can give.
The hope means I haven’t let go. I still take refuge in my memories of her. Lying in bed, I pretend she is beside me; going out, I pretend she is waiting for me.
Perhaps some new girl will come along and consume my thoughts, make the hope trickle away without my noticing. Perhaps. But now, all I need
—
need your fingers in me.’ she gasps, the buzz of her voice making goosebumps on my neck. Our kisses are breathy, surging in time to the movement of my fingers in her wetness. She begins to buck onto my hand, eyes wild, biting into her bottom lip. My mouth goes to her neck and I bite the pale skin beneath her jaw. She gasps and again bucks onto my hand, reaches up and pulls my mouth closer to her throat. I bury my face in her neck, whispering my desire. Her pleasure begins to spiral upwards until our bodies meet once more, and then she gushes over my hand.
After we have come back to earth she says ‘That was perfect
—
perfect. How can it be put into words? I shall have to try, angel.
‘I adore the way you look at me after we have had sex: eyes lidded, a sort of wonder on your face. You make me laugh with your pillow talk – your bizarre choices of topic: cooking, the stars, my toes. Your extroverted personality in a crowd is so at odds with your tender, careful attentions when we’re alone. We fit together so beautifully in bed, your bottom curved into the hollow below my stomach, my lips against your neck. You tickle me mercilessly sometimes, but always nurse my sides afterwards with your tongue. You once whispered to me that you want to die in my arms. I want to spend the rest of my life in your’s.’