life could be a dream
I woke to the scent of bacon. My eyes clouded with sleep, I stretched and climbed out of bed. I stood in the doorway to my kitchen and stared at the young lady standing in front of the stove.
She was a beautiful sight. Her T-shirt clung to her in all the correct places and the Mirkwood gloom of an early December highlighted her auburn hair. She looked over at me and smiled a little smile, then went back to her work.
I stood and watched. I was pondering what blessed event had occurred to bring her into my life. After all I am nothing more than scabby old ogre, no joy in my heart, no light in my soul. Just the baron, cold wasteland of what used to be a life. I had nothing to offer such a fine young lady as her.
Slowly I walked up behind her and placed my hands on he hips. She looked up for a moment but continued her task. Slowly I buried my nose in her auburn hair, which smelled like summer flowers and rain. I then wrapped my arms around her, and kissed the base of her neck just behind her left ear. I could feel her knees buckle just a little as she shut the flame on the stove off and turn to face me.
Her eyes, her eyes could look into a man, daring him, taunting him. Her lips were dangerous. She could strip a man to the bone with a Cheshire smile, reducing him to a mere puppet.
We gazed at each other for a time, trying to gauge the situation we were in until slowly I leaned in and gave her a kiss. She placed her hands on my chest and laid her head them. I tightened my grasp on her and felt her feeding me a measure of her melancholy, which I took in gladly.
She looked up at me. Her eyes, her lips, her smoldering red hair drove me to madness and serenity. She was the one thing I never knew I needed. it confounded me and excited me. the contradiction was both frustrating and exciting.
Slowly she turned to resume her cooking. I eventually let go of her warm and welcoming frame. There was some unspoken thing there. Something powerful and true and wonderful and quite dangerous.
We had no need for anything as vulgar and pedantic as sex. Our appetites were not as charming as society would dictate. And yet, she made me whole. She made me want again, desire again. She made me feel valuable.
We sat and ate in silence and as I cleared the table she reached out for my hand stopping me in my tracks. Her touch more soothing than the last.
“What are you thinking?” She inquired her eyes smoldering in the half light.
“You are the total package, with mint frosting.” I smiled.
I woke to the sound of my phones alarm going off. Staring up at the ceiling, I lay in bed reliving that wonderful dream. The first dream in many years that did not make me want to end myself. I lay there smiling listening to the band in my head playing “Life could be a Dream Sweetheart”.
With Mint frosting…
You are a great writer. You painted such a vivid picture. I could practically smell the bacon. 🙂
I have something quite similar, in structure, you see, but juxtaposed in the sense that mine is what I’d call a nightmare. When I reach out and touch the person in my version, they react with the indifference of a potato. And the person in my version doesn’t care enough to ever ask what I am thinking. But that’s not the scary part. The scary part is that I never get to wake up and dismiss it, because my version isn’t confined to my unconscious wandering. Mine lives and breathes. There’s just not quite anything quite so heartbreaking as your love being met with… potato.
Thanks for sharing. I look forward to reading some more.
@odd-petunia i am sorry for your potato…
there is nothing more painful than love not shared…
i did that for 37 years and now that my wife is dead…
i find myself looking for something meaningful…
if i may be so bold…
do not stay where you are not needed…
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