The light from that single, solitary candle flickered. It stopped flickering, casting shadows in all places but the one place I sought - his face. He was turned away from me that night. I could sense his pain. He wouldn't talk to me, tell me what was wrong. He wouldn't let me help. I loved him then, for all his stubborness, for all his faults, I loved him - his eyes, his sense of humour, the softness of his face when I put my hand to it, for the way his hair fell when it was wet, the way his clothes hung off his body, and most of all, I loved the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't looking. I loved him - and everything about him.
There was something about him the first time I met him. I met him at a funeral - an odd place to meet someone - but it happened. The first time we exchanged glances, something clicked into place, I knew he could feel it too. We met a few days later - away from prying eyes, to get to know each other. It was there, we both knew it, we both could feel it, but we didn't want to rush into anything. We talked for what seemed like an eternity. But it was, in reality, only4 hours. He dropped me off at me house later that day after lunch. All I could think about was him.
Now, almost a year later, I lie here watching The light flicker off the satin sheets, which clad his body, and underneath the sheet, was skin - bare skin. I watched his body, the curve of it, the way his legs were inter-twined with mine, the way his chest rose and fell with every precious breath he took. I untangled the long strands of his soft brown hair from his face, so gently, as not to disturb him. Unconsciously, he turned over to face me, and continued to sleep. The flickering candle went out - and I could only see the vague outline of his sleeping figure.
Slowly I lie down next to him, and curve my body to fit the way his body is hunched, against the cool breeze that is slowly wafting through the open window. He stirrs softly, and wraps his arms around me, and I slowly drift off to sleep.

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