A short story...

He lay on the bed beside her, still hot from the love they had made. The room smelled of her; like clover, honey, clean sweat, and other more intimate things. His mind was vast and quiet as an ocean that had never known the tide. He was at peace.

The room was dark, its boundaries holding back the outer edges of his reverie, but there was just enough ambient light that he could make out the fine, soft lines of her face. Her breathing was low and steady. Her chest rose and slowly fell. Everything was otherwise still and quiet.

He watched her sleep for as long as he could before he too was eventually pulled back from the hard, distinct borders of consciousness. A dream began to unwind softly in his head. It was something loosely based on a fond childhood memory of a family gathering long past, maybe during Christmas time. Maybe during snow. It was something he would later wake from and most likely not remember.

His last thought before he finally slept was of her. He didn't expect and didn't deserve to know such happiness, and he wondered if it too wasn't fleeting as a dream.

Perfect things, he knew, were not made to last.  



Copyright 2009 J. A. Wise