Another Night – Right?

She takes his hand – courageously, fast – intertwining her fingers with his, as if it was the most natural thing to do.
As soon as they touch everything becomes timeless, placeless, fleeting, fog-like.
Her fingertips tingle and her synapses fire: it feels like she is floating, no, sinking, as if she was a stone,
carelessly thrown into a pond. She gasps, closes her eyes.
Will she faint? He wants to hold her, but he does not dare – doesn’t want to make it worse.
He tries to loosen her grip, to shake her off, to save her from something that he can only imagine as a terrible experience.
Electric, magnetized; he can not release her, she does not allow it.
The small hairs on her arm stand on end, as impulses of pure energy roll over her. It’s overwhelming and very different from last time.
“Like the air before a storm,” she pictures: “Tension, just before lightning strikes for the first time.”
He swallows empty and tries to calm his racing heart. For real?
Her knuckles turn white, she holds him so tight and her lower lip trembles, but he can not see any pain writen on her face.
She only seems to be very far away, as if her spirit was driftwood, carried by the ebb and flow;
as if it would be flushed out of her body and back into it, in circles – over and over again.
The sun makes her hair and her delicate skin glow golden and is reflected in the beads of sweat on her forehead.
“Like thick snowflakes, but on a warm spring day. Cold drops that tingle on warm skin.”
He wants more. Since she appears in his dreams he wants more. She is so good that it hurts him to be bad.
“As if we were immortal,” she sighs and staggers. He retreats.
Her grip weakens, her hand releases from his and he holds his breath.
He has to memorize all this sensations at any cost: her slender, short fingers gently sliding between his –
how they feel like cold silk. How she clawed at him, her fingernails pressed into his skin, her phalanges tight against his ankles.
As her hand slips, her fingertips glide over his palms.
She remains motionless, squints disoriented, as if she had just woken from a long dream.
“Was that magic?” She gasps.
“Magic?” He asks in a quavering voice, his brows furrowed.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *