Her palm fits snug into his work worn hands.

Her lips touch amongst his as if molded for one and other.

Mustn’t her thought sway, for in a moment, he is along her side.

The complecture of amazonian goddesses, her hand intertwines his.

Setting her hand on her lower abdomen, she raises her eyes towards his.

His hand upon her lips.

“Do not speak.”

She looks into his eyes as if he were to steal her soul from right under her.

“Ok, now tell me, I needed to really look into your eyes for a moment.”

A soft smile works its way through her lips, she carries the result of their love.

“279 days from now we shall be one.”

The creases on his forehead relax.

He tightens his grip onto her hand.

True it is.

A moment he has waited for, a moment of pride and impatience.

The woman he adores carries their future, their hope, their creation.

Need not for them to speak, for they hear without sound.

Taste without tongue, and love without heart.

Eternal is this news.

Eternal is this creation.

Impatience is present.

Love is grand.

Heart is pure.

I see myself wearing a very funky scarf in a stylish cafe, smoking a cigarette and reading a pamphlet to the newest art showing that month.

I see myself in a modern minimalist apartment cooking rice and listening to acid jazz.

Painting on a balcony in a Paris loft with flowers running down the sides of it.

Sporting a fashionable trench coat and beanie in a London subway station buying a bottle of Irish Creme Liquor.

Holding his hand in the morning sun.

A live jazz concert with lights dimmed down low.

In a crowded office hurrying to write my column before the newspaper’s deadline.

Diagnosing the cause of death for Human #xxxxxxxxx while intricately studying the ventricles.

Human intelligence collector for the United States Army with a Sade CD in my uniform.

Lawyer in a court wearing an ugly suit with great shoes, engulfed in manilla folders.

Culinary Arts expert on a drive to a wine tasting convention.

Chopping wood for the fireplace in my cabin far away in the Carpathian Mountains.

Dreaming.

Living.

Loving.

Indeed, 10 years is quite the while.

Oh the curiosity.

Her dress spins lightly across the kitchen, humming softly, she drops a trickle of salt into the pan.

Her shirt is a 1970′s beauty. Colorful, light dances upon the silk pink of her cheeks.

A smile is such a joy when it is accompanied with the thought of someone close, dear, loved.

The hum flows to his ears and to his heart strings.

As a butterfly on a freshly rained leaf, he lays back and savors the voice of his beauty, his joy,
his sweetness.

Her sweetness could send him into a diabetic disease.

His intelligence finds her each and every time, true to admire, she can never get enough of him.

Does the rest around them matter? Oh but no, it does not.

Indeed, it does not.

She ruffles over to him, kisses his nose quickly, and runs away giggling girlishly.

Its these little things that she does that make him superbly adore her every particle.

She is the epitome of all his needs and wants.

Perfection wrapped in so many layers it is impossible to complete in one life.

They complete each other, she is like the melt to his chocolate.

The sharp to his cut, and the swipe to his slide.

She sways her hair back and forth, sunlight touching but only the tips of her brown hair, further detailing the pure excellence in which it sits.

His hands comes up her neck as she turns, her eyes glistening in front of him, she giggles and says
“you smell like tapioca pudding, dear”

Continuing to giggle, she continues preparing dinner with a slight dance in her walk.

He simply adores her.

Simply adores. 

He was never the kind to fall in love, to be completely crazy about a woman, but with her,
it is different. She is different.

She can be so fun, yet so sexy in the same time.

He gets in the car, he will go and make up with her, three days without her has seemed
like an eternity.

Italian love songs can be heard from her windows, he knocks, no answer.

He calls, she answers, her nose sniffling.

Him: Do you feel like opening the door? I am kind of in front of it and it won’t open.

Her: Oh, um, alright, but I look like crap, um, oh well.

Him: I am sure you look fine, just move your butt over here and open the door.

The door moves and her dark eyes reveal a hard couple days.

He can see she has been crying, but she crys alot, so maybe it wasn’t for him.

She jumps in his arms and hugs him so very tight it hurts his rib cage, she could not help it, although she is very stubborn, she has been dreaming of feeling him next to her for so long.

Their love is not the perfect kind, the one where they know they will make it, it is not destined.

But they feel something so strong, when apart, all they think about is each other.

She wonders if this is the right kind of love, the passionate extremely jealous never wanting to be far from one and other kind of love.

Most stories of this love end in tragedy, one will do anything for another, and whether it be nature or god’s wrath, something bad always happens.

Yet the soft touch of his hands upon her arms melts her into tiny little pieces.

The way she raises her eyes at him he can feel something so grand, so poetic, that it makes him fall in love with her time and time again.

A love so powerful, yet so very dangerous.

Take me away my love.

Him: You’re kidding me right? You’re not actually going to buy that scarf, it has like a thousand colors.

Her: Yeah well, you know I like crazy shit. Besides, it goes with like twenty outfits of mine.

Him: Oh all right, you’ll be like my color bursting bag of skittles.

(He messes up her hair lightly.)

Her: OH look, now I look like a colored porcupine. Thanks.

Him: But you’re my porcupine right?

Her: Sure ( She pokes his stomach several times giggling. ) Spikes and all!

Him: Um. Ow. That hurt.

Her: Awww, really? Come here, let me kiss it so it feels better.

Him: Nope, sorry, I read somewhere colored porcupine are not healthy at all, especially for the heart.

Her: Hmm, well, I shall not contradict that, I mean look at you, your practically hyperventilating just looking at me. ( She says this in a very cocky tone. )

Him: Oh come here, you silly goose, just kiss me already.

Her: Oh alrightttt…

(They kiss between the left scarf display and the Calvin Klein make-up display to the right.)

Her: Tea, dear?

Him: Sex, dear?

Her: Im serious, chamomile? 

Him: Im serious too, bed?

(They both smile at each other and burst into laughter.)

Him & Her: Tea and Sex, dear?

(Both nodding their heads they leave the kitchen and escape to the bedroom.)

Her: Amore? I think I have to tell you something?

Him: Well what are ya waiting for? Spit it out.

Her: Well after many complicated calculations, and reducing, and adding, and multiplying, and subtracting I’ve found the the equation of you and me gives the definitive result of Love to the infinite power. Do you think I should do further calculations? Or just settle with the given result?

Him: You’re such a dork, you know that?

Her: Yeah, yeah, but you’re crazy about dorks so whoopi for me! Answer please?

Him: Well, I’m an english major, so you do the math.

Her: Although at many times it may seem as if I am a patient person, most of the time, I’m not.

Him: Its perfect, I would not contradict your calculations at all.

Her: Good. Because I freaking forgot the stove on. Shit.

Her: Why don’t you laugh at my jokes anymore? Do you like someone else?

Him: Why must you always assume all these crazy things?

Her: I don’t know! I just feel like we’re going too fast and it’s like I love you but I’m scared, what do you want me to do?!?!?!

Him: God, you’re so crazy, I don’t even know why I’m wasting my time.

Her: Oh now what did I do? Its all my fault now, isn’t that typical.

(He slams the door and leaves, lights a cigarette and shreds up a dry leaf from the street, furious of how stubborn she is.)

(She locks the door behind him,  lights a cigarette and shreds a napkin furious of how stubborn he is.)

They don’t speak for days.