Of Dante and Silken Fire

“I love you,” a whisper spoken on a broken tongue as your eyes continue to bore into my own - flame and passion and heat.

Naked in front of you; I stand exposed. I am (I trust) not too hard on the eyes, for the truth it seems, can leave you painfully bare.

 

And bare I am before you.

 

I caution you silently to tread with care as you journey with and within me. I beseech of you to keep your eyes open, as beneath these harsh lights, reality can appear rather abrasive.

 

Walls move closer �" blaring in their emptiness - and I can feel your cobalt eyes travelling over me in a kind of calculated astonishment. That feeling of raw actuality is creeping into my shaking limbs. Judged by gems I am, and I fear . . . oh how I fear. But still I wait, silently hoping that you shall not turn away in disgust. With my heart sprinting and chest moving at a rapid rate, I try to remember how to draw that ever-important air into my labouring lungs.

 

“I love you.” The words seem to hang in the room, tinged with flame but chilled with terror. “God, I love you.” I dare not to hope, but I can’t help but to picture a future filled with lazy mornings and a thousand kisses rained down upon deliciously bared skin.

 

You stare back at me, eyes widened in surprise, pupils dilated and your beautiful, lush, kissable lips parted in a delightful little oh that has my heart skipping a beat or three. But your irises aren’t envisioning late mornings and even later nights spent with breast against breast and hair tangled with hair. You’re not dreaming �" night after night �" of running hands along silken fire and tongue dining upon the most delectable of desserts.

 

No, you’re seeing a woman and nothing else. You’re seeing breasts and feminine features, not the chiselled jaw line and five O’clock shadow that you crave. You see soft skin and gentle curves, thin bones and full lips.

 

And all that I see . . . is you.

 

The quiet admission I had muttered minutes ago is still ringing loudly in our minds, almost as overbearingly loud as the white noise now encompassing the small room in which we stand.  Blood is pumping in a furious rush, sending my pulse thundering beneath the translucent flesh of my wrists. The air seems thin and wispy, stinging my gullet like a hoard of angry wasps. My eyes are wide in a panicked frenzy, blinking rapidly at you in some previously unknown form of Morse code.

 

Like the one I no longer plead and beg to every night - upon my knees in a hopeless faith - no answer comes to me. There is nothing to prove my devotion as anything but a ceaseless scream that falls upon empty ears. ‘Please!” a mantra that fights to escape my lips in a desperate attempt to communicate with you in anything but silence. But silence is all I can give you.

 

Please.

 

Your face is lined with anxiety, an intensity gracing your features that has me almost hopeful. Could it be that you are considering it, considering me? You open your mouth and take a deep breath, your shoulders falling and rising in a gentle sweep that draws my desperate, hungry eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whisper quietly, wringing your tightly clasped hands together. “I-I can’t.”

 

Oh god, no.

 

I can only stare as you finally move from where you had been frozen, before you walk towards the door with a pity filled grimace. A cold breath of air washes over me as you take a step out of the empty, white room and my breath stops in my throat. This can’t be it. After years of longing, of watching your beauty from a safe distance, this cannot be the end. “But I’ll always love you as a sister.”

 

I nod numbly, my eyes no longer seeing you, but all I can see . . .  is you. I desperately cling to memories of your skin brushing against mine, and your eyes meeting my own with sparkling laughter and sisterly love. But it was never more than that. And it never will be.

 

In the blink of an eye, you are gone and I am still here. You walk away with a regretful air as I crumple to my knees, broken and empty and full of my own list of regrets. Tears don’t fall from my eyes, they can’t. They’re stuck inside of me and can’t find their release.

 

With your scent clinging to my clothes and your presence still lingering in the empty space that is full of everything and nothing, I can’t stand it anymore. With a broken cry I tear and rip and claw at the strangling material until the damaged garments flutter to the floor in silence. Sharp nails of ruby red dig into my flesh, dragging along exposed skin until I am raw and bleeding and grazed.

 

But still you are here with me, filling my mind and my body and my very soul until all that I am is you and all that I can think about is what could have been. I can’t rid myself of the burden, of the weight that you rest unknowingly upon my shoulders.

 

My heart stutters as I hear the gentle patter of harried footsteps, and I almost can’t bear to look towards the door, where I know you will enter. And when you finally do come, there is no hesitation as you drop to your knees beside me and take my limp body into your warm arms. You don’t say anything as you embrace me, stroking those slender fingers of yours across my damaged flesh.

 

In your silence I can close my eyes, shut them tight and dream.

 

And in your arms, the first tear falls.

 

Author's Note

I know that it is kind of ridiculous, but please ignore the grammar mistakes as I know that they are there (this being the first draft.)

Reviews

[NoelHC]

More along the same lines as your other piece, I like this one as well. the same weirdness with the words being cut off on the margins, maybe you want to paste this all into a simple text editor, and then re-enter that into the Writer's Cafe screen. I think sometimes WC handles other word processors poorly.

Keep them coming though, I see a lot of potential here.

[Tash Hill]

Thank you for taking the time to review. I noticed the margins and I believe that I have managed to rectify that.

[NoelHC]

Yes, the margins are all better on this end now.

[NoelHC]

I decided to go back and read this one again. On second read, it is even better to me, that longing, that desperation, that need for acceptance and yearning is so strong in this piece Tash. I was moved, a great deal.