Here With Her
Almost perfect.
Could life ever become perfect? Could anything ever achieve that level?
If so, this was it.
Silence.
It was the magic between them. The factor that created them.
Born within it, at all.
Beside him. The woman beside him who lay asleep. Her sweet locks of brown hair gracing her face, her cheeks and her eyelids. Eyes shut cautiously, but happily. Gently.
Alive.
It was the way she made him feel. The way they were. The way they were meant to be.
Together.
What they were. What they really were. Nothing had made sense to them, so they shared their confusion together.
A hand came to his face. It was his own, to rub his eyes. He turned to her again.
Breathing.
Her song. Her beautiful poetry, the threads that kept him together. Of the tapestry they'd woven together.
Beautiful. That's what she was. That's what they were together. Beautiful, alive and almost perfect.
One. Not two, but one. His heart, his soul, his other half.
Never divided: they were always as one.
Willing. Willing to do so much.
He would give it to her. Everything.
Forever. It's what he would give her.
Love. It's they were there for.
Time. It's what they had.
The sun was coming through the window quietly and creeping across the bed. It swam into the mess of blankets with a whisper and slowly across his face. He smiled in the early morning and looked over to her.
Quiet.
Tender.
Lovely.
And what a thing love was.
More sun. More light, and more feeling to match. Love. Love.
Her whisper. "Good morning."
His whisper - his reply.
Smiles. The smiles they shared now.
Embrace. The embrace they held to now. The arms of the other wrapped steadily around one. Their lips meeting once before closing eyes again, still locked away in an embrace.
Love. Again. To which he spoke.
"I love you."
[Part 22]