I lie under the moon, staring across at her as stars freckle her skin. Her hair glows silver, wreathed with lilies. I thread my fingers through it, wind it up in my hands, drawing closer. Her skin is under my lips. I worship her every outline. Give my soul as an offering.
Her breath puffs over my face as I’m pressed flush against her body. Her warmth wraps around me. I drink in the color of her cheeks, move my hands over her. Never stopping. She whispers to me. I nod, mumbling words that trail off into nothing, just to get her to speak. To move her lips. To bring ours back together.
What I am and what she is blur. My thoughts dissolve into hers, losing myself, letting her take over. I becomes we, our blood pumping through one heart, our voice filling the night air.
This is home. This is home.
I’ve lived many lives with her. I die to be reborn in her lap, bending to the touch of her fingers once more. Her love is endless. I don’t waste a single drop of it – every moment is precious, unique from the last. An eternity would not bore me if she’s beside me.
Once we tire of this world, we can make a new one. She did it once before – when we first met.
Before her, I lived on a pitch-black planet. I stumbled, feeling my way around, never completely acquainted with anything. She showed me the sun. She taught me how to breathe right along with her. In. Out. In.
And then she kissed me.
I settle into a familiar comfort when her hand is in mine, recognizing the grooves in her palm. I explore the island with her. We’ll stay here for a while longer. A century of sand between our toes, of drifting emerald seas – swimming in her eyes. Our paradise, shared only by multicolor birds and fish.
She’s away on divine business. I try to be sympathetic. She does have a whole
universe to look out for. Other people need her attention, her touch, her consideration. They get to keep the words she gives them. The laughs she shares with them. All the things that I’m not there for.
Over these few lifetimes, my jealousy has evolved into a sense of… grudging acceptance. A chiding against my selfishness. Love is not a cage. I’ll never let it be – not for her.
For me? I’m homeless out of her arms.
Can I breathe when her rhythm is missing – when the steady in and out is replaced by a hollow silence?
We becomes I again. How dull it is to just be I, to be without all of the complementary parts of her that make me complete. That keep me stable. I would destroy the chaos inside me if I could.
She steadies me with her hands, pausing to assure my balance before wiping under my eyes. She isn’t afraid of what comes next. She knows that moments after I die, I’ll come back. Smile again when she squeezes me. Cast off the weight of my death to embrace a new life with her – one equally full of my love for her.
I start to fade. I’m not afraid either. I know what I’m going to wake up to. I anticipate a future that begins and ends and always contains her. Always contains us.
She asks me something troubling when I’m revived. What do you want in this life?
You, of course.
She drops the conversation soon after, but I know where she’s headed. It comes about whenever she returns from being gone for a while. She finds me in the same spot she left me, or floating – eyes closed – in the ocean. The mood will momentarily turn sour, when she tells me that she loves being we rather than I, but she still likes to be I. She’s comfortable being I. She hopes that I can like to be I too – that I can love the I apart from us in myself.
If I can do that, I might not have to die anymore.