These Perfect Letters

A short story about sound, letters, and love.

Sometimes, there are moments of flawless silence, when you can imagine a world without sound. A moment, a second, of nothing. You hold your breath, and freeze, afraid to be the one who breaks it. Then all of a sudden, with a whisper or a roar, it’s just a memory. A return to realism, just a little louder than before.

I opened my eyes in the darkness, and wondered where I was. The room began to take shape, and clarity returned. I looked over your shoulder that rose and fell, revealing with every sleeping breath, tiny hands that clicked steady stories of time. The fan hummed quietly on the ceiling above us, the soft push of air pulling the sheets down around your waist. Outside, shapeless leaves scratched against the window, rustling in the shadows.

I smiled, and slid a sleepy hand into yours. I felt your slow pulse through your fingers, and wondered where you were. I closed my eyes again, and felt sleep creeping back up my spine, weaving quiet tendrils through my body. It was almost complete until my eyes flicked open once more. An instant of silence that only existed in the chasm between ticks of the clock, the air between the blades of the fan, and the sliver of space between the leaves. You heard it too, the nothing, and opened your eyes. As we listened, a single ray of moonlight crawled between the tangled branches outside, snuck past half closed curtains and glided through the silence. It came to rest, weary, on the small of your back. We watched it between breaths and heartbeats, as it gleamed golden on your skin.

Then, the infinite was ended, and the clock hammered another second to its growing tally. The fan resumed its orbit, buzzing angrily and the branches creaked outside, leaves clawing against the window. The ray of moonlight was gone, and we were alone again, without light or silence.

I whispered, “Did you hear that?”, and you replied, even though I could see the answer in your eyes.

“Of course. But what was it?”

“Nothing.” I replied, and you nodded, but in the dark I couldn’t tell if you truly understood. I untangled my fingers from yours, and reached out slowly, placing my hand on your back. Almost nervously, I slid my fingertips down the curve of you spine, until they too rested where the moonlight had. Your skin prickled under my touch, and you flinched. I murmured a quiet apology, my fingers still dancing.

Eventually your breathing slowed again, as the sounds of night returned to their comforting assonance, and you slept. In that rosy afterglow of silence though, I couldn’t rest. In that spot, where your soft skin was graced by light, I drew a letter with my finger, my skin barely touching yours. Minutes passed, and I drew another. In your sleep I saw your lips twitch, a rumour of a smile.

 

The morning had come, with its light and its noise, and you awoke with my hand still on your back, though my fingers had stopped their drawing. My eyes, though, were still open, and they looked into yours as you struggled to find the words. You blinked, and I could see the memories of then becoming the thoughts of now.

“I had the strangest dream.” It begged a question, but I waited a moment before asking, teasing you. You frowned, and I relented.

“What did you dream?”

“I dreamt of you. You, and words. So many words.”

I raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What words?”

You smiled, and leant close, your hand wandering down my chest. You stopped there, and like a feather you drew a letter on my skin. My fingers returned to their night time dance upon the small of your back. You kissed me then, as our hands spoke the words our lips could not, drawing perfect letters, that didn’t make a sound. 

Reviews

[Tristyn]

Right as I started reading this, 'Breathe Me' by Sia came on my radio, and it was just the most perfect counterpoint to your story. Your words sent shivers down my back. Thank you.