Seasons of YouMature

a kind of short story i guess, this is part one from the girl's perspective.

My hands tremble and shiver and shake. I peer unconsciously at the millions of stars above, imperiously dotting the Milky Way.
And even though my mind is so shrouded with inapprehensible thoughts and meaningless tragedies, all I can see is you.
You and your ripe pink lips, your hazel green eyes that hold so much shine, your nose, slightly crooked with the lip stick marks I leave there secretly.

In the Winter time I'll curl myself into your warmth. Embedding myself into the crook of your pale arms, the hollow of your neck where I whisper things adoringly. A cheap little gas heater is all we can afford, pay packets barely making the rent. But we'll just make love all winter long and sip hot chocolate and tea by the window, watching the world go by as we sit in our own little haven. And maybe sometimes, if we're feeling dangerous, we'll go play hide and seek in the snow at midnight and stay out until our toes are frozen off and our noses are dripping and red. Then we'll take a hot bath together with candles in the dark, drinking the bottle of expensive red wine you stole from your father.

Tiny droplets of rain spatter the coat I'm wearing. It's yours. The hood covers my eyes, drapes against my damp forehead obscuring the scenery. But I'm fine with that. The colour of the darkening sky reminds me too much off your faded coffee mug.
So I lean my heavy head against the tree trunk and close my tiring eyes. Sleep, he wants to enfold me in his arms and carry me away. But I fight against him to see you.
You and your baggy tee shirts with crude pictures you make me wear, your shaggy black hair that falls over your eyes every time you laugh, your pale flesh behind your pierced ears where I leave bite marks that tell stories.

In the Summer time we'll drink raspberry cordial from plastic mugs with twisty straws and umbrellas. In the heat of the sun you'll sit beneath the oak tree with your hands tucked perfectly behind your head and your eyes closed, humming to a familiar song on the radio. At midnight, with the air still outlandishly balmy, we'll strip our shorts and singlets and dance naked beneath the sprinkler on the front lawn. And spontaneously make love, not caring that the neighbour's dogs are barking from behind the fence loudly, because all that matters is that your mouth is pressed against mine.

Thunder crashes insanely around the walls of nature. I'm hiding my ears from the brash sound. Clouds have covered the skies, closing the gates to heaven for the night. Rain stings my eyes and mats my hair around my angular face. A thought, or a memory, (it's hard to decipher between the two these days) is provoked by a shard of lightning brightening the sharp black sky. You. You and I, that vulgar winter spent hauled up in your parent's cottage, and I awoke from a nightmare just as lightning struck and you sat there, all loving and caring and amazing and pushed the sweat soaked hair from my clouded eyes. Memories of you and your careful hands, covered in calluses, caressing my sun kissed skin, your rippling muscles, in which I so many times over licked chocolate from in our passionate endearments, your heart beat that lulled me to sleep countless times.

In the Fall we'll take strolls along the old fishing wharf, hand in hand. And we'll both stop to gaze into each other's eyes as waves crash roughly against the old wooden planks, wetting our feet. I'll watch you cringe with smiling eyes as I sit on you and pluck golden orange and red leaves from the dry grass and stick them all in your black mess of hair. Patiently  I'll wait on the door step for you, wearing my favourite hat and bracelet. And when you arrive home from your family holiday you'll run up the drive to meet me at the water stained steps, take my hand and pull me up to your face. I'll faintly here you say "I love you" as a gentle Autumn rain patters our shoulders and I smother you with cherry glossed lips.

I've sat in this sodden mess for eternity it feels. The thunder has diminished into the fields, rain has died down to a miserable drizzle and the clouds have risen above the mountains. My drenched body convulses with detached feeling and I wearily watch the glorious sunrise from the gully. The promising light drenches every unhidden inch of earth in a deep golden honey. The radiance beams upon rain silken leaves, glistening. And a tear rolls off the tip of my frozen nose as I recall the days where we once watched this together. You and your crazy cute remarks about my hair on a Sunday morning when we watched the wake of dawn, your ridiculous habit of leaving coffee mugs off the coasters and pulling the blanket off me in the middle of the night, your torpid goodnights you 'whispered' to me in the early hours after crawling home from a night with the boys.

In the Spring we'll lie lazily amongst the fields of daisies and brilliant yellow daffodils, counting clouds and eating cotton candy from one another's fingertips. You'll trail strawberry flavoured kisses along my ribs and caress my nose with yours. I'll drag you down to my mother's house and have her bake us cookies with sprinkles and we'll take a picnic to the old farm down the road and watch the new born lambs frolic through the long, untamed grass. On a frosty Spring morning, you'll plant wet kisses on my eyelids as I dream wondrously, curled into your pillow. And as you sit in the old rocking chair we took from that old man down the street, you'll write a message in the dewy window then leave for work. I'll awake and stumble into the kitchen to see your scrawled writing slowly melting into the morning sun, "UOY EVOL I", and grin.

I shield my bloodshot eyes from the morning sun's harsh glare, and I think about how beautiful this wilderness is. It reminds me of you, wild, untamed. My feet feel numb as I push myself from the drenched dirt, my knees knock and I stumble forward. A tingle travels through my body, pulses through my veins as I soak up the warming sun. The sleeves of your coat hang way past my hands and drip with water, making a flicking noise as the droplets hit the wet grass. I trudge dejectedly down the slippery hill, my mind still shrouded with inapprehensible thoughts and meaningless tragedies.
I wander down your street, towards your house. I can see your fluorescent green mailbox shaped like a dog from 6 houses away. My hand touches something squishy in the pocket of your coat, my frozen fingertips clench the slip of damp paper and carefully pull it from the material.
Its there, almost yelling at me, shouting at me from the paper. Your name. written in bold green letters. (Green's your favourite colour). I turn the envelope over in my moist wrinkled hands, fingers like prunes. 18 times I turned that letter over before I reached the end of your broken concrete driveway. White cloudy smoke billows from the brick chimney of your house, our house? No, no, your house. The beady black eyes of your mailbox dog stares at me peculiarly as I slip the letter with your name on, into the slot. I stand there awhile, thinking. Staring. Wondering. And then I see the curtain of the bedroom window flinch and a miraculous looking brunette peeks with bedroom eyes out the dew traced glass. Her gaze burns into me, and I can't stop staring but I hear her call your name, an alarming tone pierces her voice and now I'm running, my heavy feet taking me as far away as I can get. And I didn't stop to see you standing on your front step in your socks and boxers, yelling my name. And you didn't check the mailbox to find my letter. The letter telling you that I miss the way you smile at me when my pancakes don't turn out right. Telling you that my mother says hello and my father wonders about you. Telling you that, of all things, I wish I could smell your skin, that delicious musky scent that is all yours. Telling you that I miss the way your worn out shoes slap the pavement on a warm February day. Telling you that I can't stand the way other boys kiss me, because only you know where all my sensitive spots are, only you know. Telling you that I can't stop thinking about you and your dishevelled hair (don't ever cut it, it's beautiful and sexy). Telling you that after all this time, I still fall in love with you 34 million times over. Every. Single. Day.

The End

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