Saturday, February 2, 2013

My Bloody Valentine

















"She is lying on her side, one leg extended, one tucked, her hair rolled over her shoulder and splayed against the pattern of the blanket, draped so it curved laterally down her back. The room was cold again and save for her pale green la senza boyshorts she was nude. Half shivering, half wracked with some dreaming terror. ‘Jesus, you’re probably cold,’ Milo thought to himself, though whispering the words too, as though speaking into the dream. He softly tugged and rearranged the blankets upon her, lifting her arm, ever so gently pushing the excess underneath her. He draped himself over the bundle of her that he’d made, laying his leg over hers and tucking his left arm over her, trying to generate warmth. Pulling her close in to his body he softly, slowly, buried his face into the back of her neck, ever so gently kissing the back of her head, whispering again into dream, carefully, glacially, imperceptibly, ‘I love you. you are safe. it’s okay. I love you. . .’ Shut down. Serene. Movement ebbs, dreaming terror abates. They lay together in the still, the house wanes over its own tensions and creaks in the cold. Milo's eyes are heavy, he is cold too, through all his clothing. He has never, ever, been more content in his life. His eyes close, the day wins, he drifts away hoping it will be like this forever, fearing that it will not."

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