He inhaled sharply as his eyes caressed his written words, wishing with his entire being that his fingers could touch the One’s throat, cheek, hand. He felt his mind swim…with memory. ‘I love you,’ whispered hesitantly in the barely lit room. Her shape, smooth like a ripple of a wave, not quite touching him. His heart, he knew at that moment, would be forever changed. His eyes focused on what his fingers were doing, caressing her neck and cheek, willing her to understand the depth of feeling he had for her. Wishing he could transfer to her how much he loved her. Change. What is love? he considers now. Loving another means being willing to change those things within and without ourselves, to accept love over pain. For Her he was willing to change. Poetry was the smoke-filled air that made his chest ache, velvet were the sheets that could not house enough warmth on the chilled night but, somehow, were more than enough to make his arms slick with the slightest sheen of sweat. The. I eased myself into the flow of the water and the pain gradually dulled to throb. I relaxed and started to feel somewhat better. With the pain not fighting so hard for my attention, thoughts of what I had just done and what was to come started to creep in. Fuck! I wonder how bad the fire was. I was starting to think that I used way too much gasoline and that there was no way anyone would think it an accident. Even the story we cooked up that Rachel was getting gas for the lawn mower, to explain gasoline in the car, was sounding lame. I don’t know long I was in the shower, but it was starting to turn cold and then Rachel knocked at the door.“Are you OK?” she called through the closed door.“Yeah. I’m coming out”I turned off the water, toweled off, and walked out to the bedroom.I took some cloths out of the hamper and Rachel scrunched up her nose at me.“How’s it going to look if I go over to your place in fresh cloths and freshly showered? I’m not even going to comb my hair. The messier.
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