Love's Utopia

This is the complete opposite of "Relief."

 

Sitting at my desk thinking of times long past, I wonder where she is. I remember times she walked these halls when she was here.

                Her hair flowing through the winds as if she was the wind. She and I bought this house because she always dreamed of a house with a picket fence that would close her off from the outside world. A house in which she would begin her own world, a world built of beauty and love. Flowers inhabited the garden like an eagle would soar through the air. Smothering all that nurtures, they would grow and feed. Everyday growing in beauty and splendor, just like her.

                Tan carpets to match the eyes that fill in her perfect face. Walking over the carpets is as if I was

touching her smooth skin, caressing my feet after a hard day.

                Even the kitchen holds the eccentricity, which seems to follow her. Knowing that her hands flowed over the counters like water over a riverbed. The culinary accomplishments that she concocted were all produced from this very kitchen. Watching her walk to the dining room with the wine that set the mood so well. Nights of pure pleasure followed every time she met me at the door with nothing more but a candle and a kiss. I would carry her down the hallway into the bedroom, which reeks so much of taste. Laying her so delicately across the bed, I would feel every contour of her body.

                Mornings, I would move towards the closet, everyday, to set aside the clothes that I would need for a busy day of business. She would hold me and tie the necktie that I struggle with so much. We would move towards the hallway as she escorts me to the door. Stopping under the sky light I could feel the warmth of her lips smother the warmth of the sun. Work would not ruin this day like it has numerous other days. I stay at home and make the day a holiday of my love for her.

                We lay together on the couch, enjoying each other’s company but as I wake up from my slumber, I am reminded of the dreams rusted history. All I have now is the warm memories of love that time has long forgotten. Trapped in my own mind, walking the halls with her, I will never be alone.

Reviews

[Frances O'Neill]

This is a lovely story and the description is eye-catching. I have never heard of a kitchen being

eccentric, but maybe electric. LOL.. Among the trappings of nostalgia, with the memory of what

time has taken away, at least there are still memories.