8/17/95

Quietly they sit, gazing into each other's eyes. These "doorways to the soul" speak every thought without a single spoken word. The gaze loses perspective, and they stop seeing each other's face, only to see each other's souls. These souls, battered and beaten, bandaged, scarred, and alive with passion that is the will to keep going. These souls could have failed them years ago, but the passion within keeps repairing and pushing them along, urging them to try one more time.

They break the gaze but not the silence. His hand slowly approaches her cheek, and as he gently brushes her face, she tilts her head to meet his warm fingertips, letting him know that she understands his unspoken conversation. Her hand comes up slowly too, and she lightly lays it on top of his hand, softly pressing her fingertips to the back of his fingers, quietly urging him to continue this dance.

His other hand joins the first on her face, and he holds her up to meet his gaze again. They stare this way, with her hands laid on top of his, and another connection is made. The two souls share a deeper moment this time, feeling each other's heart ache with memories lost and stolen. She breaks the gaze this time.

She removes her hands from his, and uses her fingertips to gently brush his face, his cheeks, rougher than her own, and she traces the outline of his face slowly, as if she had to memorize every aspect with only her hands. He relishes this touch, and his eyes close slowly, not wanting to give up his sight of her in front of him. She traces his eyelids, and her fingertip brushstrokes become so light, he can't tell if he is imagining them.

With eyes still closed, he shudders. The fingertips have been replaced by featherlight lips, brushing across his skin like a butterfly's wings. They touch his forehead, eyes, cheekbones, and land ever so lightly, on his lips. Not wanting to disturb the landing, he keeps his eyes closed, even though his heart rushes in his chest.

The fingertips come back, and becomes ever so slightly firmer, causing him to open his eyes to the sight of her again, this time framing his face in her hands. Time is lost, and he couldn't say where they were on a bet. She makes the slightest motion towards him, and he follows her lead. Her eyes look downward on his face a moment, then come back to rest on his look. He makes the same gesture, and the two meet in the middle, in a kiss of the most pure, soulful emotional connection.

He shudders with the sensations that course through his body. He slowly moves closer to her, and reopens his eyes to a bright light. The sun peeks through his window shades, and she has become a pillow in his arms. The dream lingers on his mind like perfume on clothing. He gets up smiling and waits for another night to arrive.

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The contents of these pages are copyright 1996 by Jennifer Kelbaugh. Said contents may not be published for profit or restricted without the express written permission of the author. For the purposes of this notice, the author of all contents on this page is Jennifer Kelbaugh.