[Reading Time: 2 – 2 minutes]
Days have passed and the images, the sensations, the [sigh]. It is as if time stood still. For those few hours the world faded away.
She lay next to him, their legs intertwined, his hand gently stroking her arm and he spoke. He spoke of life, his life. More words than he has ever said. She listened.
She listened as he spoke of those things you hold deep inside. Surprised he shared his troubles, comforted he trusted her. No words could she speak to lessen his doubts; she kissed him. Lovingly, softly.
He responded to her touch, moving closer, pulling her to him. His lips on her neck, her cheek, her mouth. His hands following the length of her body. Her hands tracing his face, fingers running through his hair, down his back, inching ever closer.
When these moments come around there is little thinking. Afterward, analysis strips away their special qualities. Meaningful moments become feelings to scrutinize, actions to pick apart. “Does he love me?” she will think. Maybe he does the same, maybe not. Is this what is meant by the Mars/Venus thing? Is it really different worlds or only different perspectives?
She wants to remember those moments. Not to tear them apart, but to savor like a fine wine. Roll it around on her tongue, drink down the very essence, his essence.
She closes her eyes. He holds her close. His mouth finding his way over hers. His tongue searching, tasting. She allows herself to be carried into the moment. Like the waves of the ocean lapping upon the shore, the feel of him washes over her. As a smile creeps upon her face, she drifts off into sleep with the memory of their morning still upon her.