Ramblings

A Story by Rebekah Smith

Just a collection of words that fit together, in a way that makes sense.

The sweat on my hand mixes with yours, but I like it. We stare at each other's insides, heart reaching heart through eyes of a different colour and the shape of your body becomes irrelevant when I can see you like this. When you're wide open, it's like you're made of crystal-glass that only I can see through. The washed, grey denim covering your legs is loose & a little grubby. You run a hand through hair that's nearly been cut right off, and the twinkling blue sapphires in your face just keep shining lights into my dark corners. When we speak - IF we speak - the words aren't always smooth and flowing; it's not like you're perfect. At times, you piss me off like no-one else. At times I think you just want to see how much I can take before something breaks and a column of words rip from my lips, getting in your face and ears and humming, rapid - like a swarm of locusts.
At times.
'They' often say that love can make you weak. I don't think it's love's fault. When one person can make you FEEL so much, all at once, from scared to sick to calm and back, it's enough: enough for even the strongest among us to feel like a fledging chick or brittle sapling. Enough to make the colours smudge, and change the world inside of your head.
You're enough.
I need no more.
I want no more.
And that's just it - there's so much, even alone. So mingling souls with you is something like two worlds forming one, like the collision of two galaxies amongst a maelstrom of stars...when there's already so much to look at.