Writing Exercise: "I thought I saw..."

The Preacher once told me that the best way to improve my writing it to write everyday. I seem to be at a standstill with each piece one of my fiction pieces, so decided to go to a creative writing prompt website, and go with the first prompt I came upon.

Prompt 68 - Begin with "I thought I saw..."

I thought I saw your shadow amongst those dancing on the wall, weaving in an out of fluid flux of wind animated trees. I thought I heard the rustle of the carpet beneath your bare feet, and waited, just waited for the pads of your fingers to trace down my bare back, rolling across the alternating hills and valleys of my spine. The need for your touch is so palpable, that goosebumps form in anticipation of that which will not come.

I am ever in awe of how my body responds to your touch. The kiss of your skin upon mine transforms this mundane vessel that takes me from dull tasks of the day to day, that carries me to my obligations of society. There is no better way to say than when you touch me, there is fire. The skin beneath your hand bursts with electricity and rips across my entire being. Mind, body, and soul. Like an oven, the heat lasts long after its use is done. My body craves you so, that it retains that tingle for hours upon end. Each nerve alive and reaching out to recover your touch. Your touch is what keeps me going when the day seems flat and my life static. I simply have to recall the magic in your fingertips and I am alive again. Your touch makes me sing, it makes me long, it makes it possible to go on.

Tonight as I lay here, mourning a night we must spend apart, my mind wanders back to a different night. A night that started in grey, muted tones, and ended with my rebirth. It was the night that day shone, for it was the night you came into my life. That night your presence made the mundane magnificent. Leaning against the wall, I watched you through the throngs of people, and felt myself come alive. Suddenly aware of all around me, I began to notice life's nuisances with my new senses.

Awakened and alive, I could feel the artificial chill clashing with the collective body heat rising off the crowd upon my skin. My back prickled against the textured rills of plaster prodding me through my thin gauze dress. Then when your blue pools finally turned to me and met with mine, my heartbeat became so loud in my ears that the choir of voices became a mere drone. Crossing the room toward me, I saw scenes for our life together that at the time, I dare not hope for. Your hand sliding over the slight crest of my stomach, my cheek upon your bare chest as my endless locks spread in all directions, the slight pause as you take in my scent before gently laying a kiss upon my forehead. I saw it all before it happened.

That night did you know that this is was what love was going to be like? Were you aware from the start that this thing would completely envelope us, that it would take over everything? Had you known that this was how love would control you, would you have allowed the conception to begin in your heart? Each day as the pervasive thing moves through my being, and changes everything it touches, I wonder these questions to myself. Would the person I was, the one living in half-tones of color, so selfish and self-absorbed, have allowed the change had the outcome been known for the start? For now my being is so intertwined with yours, that I would scarcely know myself without you. Two halves to a whole. Is that healthy? Perhaps this virus we call love's greatest trick is not letting those whom it has affected know what they are in store for.

Is love merely a creation of the mind, or is our love so real that it can be perceived through the senses? When your hand envelopes mine, cupping it from the top and completely encasing it as your fingers curl towards the bottom and that tiny spark transfers from your insides to mine, tell me, is that the transmission of love? My love is so poignant that it must be a tangible and measurable thing. How can something so all encompassing and overwhelmingly power be a simple product of a fallible imagination? When you are above me and my hands rove across your bare back, your love seethes so close to the surface that it is palpable. Our love is more powerful that the draw of gravity or the pull of magnetic forces, so how can its power not be a force of nature? To look at you is to know the truth about love.

My reflections are doing nothing to stem the torrent of loneliness. So lazing done, eyes fold together in prayer, I drift off to sleep. It is the only way to soothe the ache of your absence and to hasten the morning of your return. For when I wake, the salve to my soul will be the brassy tones of the morning sun kissing your face. Until then my sweet love, until then.