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Sunday, February 14, 2010

True Stories of Romance

Happy Valentine's Day

I can’t sleep. The bed no longer feels right to me. It feels…what? Unsafe. I sit on the floor, uncomfortable. The carpet itches, the bed frame digs into my back, burning me, ice cold. I sit, my knees pulled up to my chin. I sit in the dark and I think. No, I can’t think. The black, moonless night pours into my room, envelops me. The night is choking me, cutting me, ripping through my skin. Above me she is still asleep. Resting quietly. Peacefully. In her sleep she shows none of the torment that is even now gripping me. She is so beautiful. Laying there like that, sleeping, she is the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed. Her pale skin seems to glow in the darkness. It is a beacon to me in the night. She is a light, guiding me out of the storm, into the safety of her heart. Lying next to her in my own bed I’m supposed to feel safe and warm but no. Now it’s all wrong. As I sat on the floor looking up at her, watching her, she grew cold. Her skin, glowing white, alabaster, porcelain, fades to grey. She fades into the dark. Disappears.
And now I am alone in total darkness. I have lost all sense. I am without form, without shape. I am nothing amid an infinite field of nothingness. Empty, alone, I sit. It is so dark. Out of nowhere there is a burst of light, a flash of warmth. A touch brings me back.
I am once again in my own room, crouched awkwardly on the floor. From the bed comes a perfect, pale arm. At one end of that arm a hand reaches out, gently touches my chest. “What are you doing down there?” Her voice is quiet; concerned.
“I couldn’t sleep.” My voice is hollow; weak.
“Come back to bed.” I obey. For one last night I can hold her and feel her warmth. She gives me her light. When I wake up that morning the sun has risen but the light is gone.

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