Northern Downpour

It's a breezy spring morning and the bright light is reflecting off the wood paneling, making everything a summery shade of light red-orange. There are birds chirping excitedly outside in the dark green shades of spring, back again after the cold winter snows. Light is streaming in through the open windows, catching the dust mites that are floating in the air. One of the rays is spilling in from a high window and is warming our bodies, even though they're tangled together and doused in blankets and pillows.

In reality, I don't see any of those things, but I can sense that they're there. Everything I would normally consider beautiful is paled and dulled whenever you're by my side. And right now, your arms are around my waist and your legs are entwined with mine. I can't believe it, I can't believe that we're finally here together, and I can't stop smiling because of it.

On your face is a contented smile, so big and so wide that I can tell you're as swelled with joy as I am. Your fingertips are tracing the words "I love you" on my back and for once they're warm, not cold like I always remember them being. Your big, brown eyes are wide open in awareness, but are crinkled at the corners, telling me that you're happy. Your brown hair is, for once, back to it's normal color and is shimmering in the sunlight. It's long again, perfect for me to play with and tangle my fingers in. You're wearing an old t-shirt that you cut the sleeves off of and pair of pink shorts.

I run my finger across your cheek and you smile even wider than I imagined possible. Imagine us, two women, who have loved each other for years...finally together at last. For once, I am complete. The thought sends a shiver through my body and breaks a bigger smile onto my cheeks. Next to me, you giggle. It makes an intense feeling well up in my body, something unexplainable, but in a good way.

"I love you."

__________

I wake up, shivering. I've kicked off all the blankets again, but this time it's different. I'm partially laying on a cushion-like object and the rest of me is on the floor and pressed against a wall. Somewhere, in the background, the guitarwork of Northern Downpour is softly playing.

For a moment, I can't remember where I am, why I'm not with her in the comfort of a warm pile of blankets instead of shivering in a cold room on a hard floor. Then I remember, she had a sleepover and I was on the floor with her and her best friend.

I lay for a moment, not conscious of any feeling in my body. My senses slowly are returned and I can look around. I've got my arm thrown around her hips and my face buried in the back of her head in her dyed-black hair. In turn, her arms are tossed around her teddy bear and her best friend.

I stifle a groan and grimace of jealously and irritation as I slide my arm away. I'm angry, I'm upset, I'm frustrated. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes and I debate whether or not I should get up and empty my eyes in the bathroom. But, as I move slightly, there's too much noise. I don't want to wake her up and make her see how much she affects me.

So, I turn around and grab the little blanket I'd been given. I bring it up to my face so that when I sniff, which I know is going to happen, I'll be flooded with her scent. It's her favorite blanket, after all. I let the tears fall down onto my arm that I'm using as a pillow. I hate the feeling of them. They seem to get cooler as they slide down my face. Does that mean I'm cold hearted, I'm unfair to her, for loving her the way I do? Or does it mean I've become bitter from hiding the only thing keeping me alive, that hope that you might one day realize how perfect we are for each other?

I hear her move beside me and I bite my finger to stop her from hearing me. I feel defeated and defenseless. I knew I shouldn't have come here tonight, but my infatuation always clouded my mind. She knew I loved her because I'd spat it out once in an argument about why I cared so much about what she did. "It's because I love you." Stupid words, spit from the mouth of a stupid, stupid girl. And what had her reaction been? I don't remember, to be honest, because it was nothing I wanted to hear, let alone be imprinted into my memory.

She turns and nuzzles into my shoulder, letting a hand fall carelessly on my waist. I almost let the groan slip out from between my lips but stop it just in time. Only she could make me this annoyed at love. Why? Because I knew she wasn't going to be falling for me anytime soon, but I couldn't exactly say I wasn't getting any jollies off of our friendship.

In fact, it's those jollies that make this whole thing so hard. Why, may I ask, does she insist on holding my hand if all we are is friends? Why does she bring her face so close to mine that my breath catches in my throat and any slight movement could bring our lips crashing together? Why does she always wrap her arms around me in an embrace when she sees me? Why, if we're merely friends, does she tell me she loves me?

Tonight, for over a half an hour, she ranted about a boy I never knew anything about, but from the sounds of him, I didn't like him. Maybe it was jealously tainting my opinion, or maybe it was the fact that he made her feel horrible about herself and a variety of other things I care not to think about or simply even speak of. She wasn't looking at me as she spoke of him, she was laying on her bed looking at her best friend. I was there, holding a pillow and mentally whipping myself for being so utterly smitten by her when she could have anyone she wanted.

Sometimes, I wished we were part of a fairy tale. Love seems to come so easily to those in the story and they know its true love despite the fact that they've known each other for less than a week. Then again, how many fairy tales do you think would take kindly to the love of two girls?

She sighs into my neck and I sigh as an automatic response. I wish I wasn't here. I've been doing my best to halt these feelings in their tracks. Whenever I heard a song she liked, I would tune it out or change it to something she'd never heard of. I wouldn't look at her pictures. The truth is, I just couldn't help myself. The dreams of her were like subliminal messaging and I would wake up craving Panic At The Disco. She's like a poison, a good one, that spreads throughout your body and takes control of all your actions, even your subconcious mind.

It's getting harder and harder to restrain myself when my hands reach out to touch her. I have to pull them back or use them to knock something of hers off her desk or mess with something I knew would bother her. It's almost impossible for me to keep from blurting out, "I love you!" whenever I see her pass by. And most of all, it's already predetermined that I'm going to want to be near her at all times, and that's just not possible.

The hand around my waist, her hand, makes all of this seem worthwhile. It makes fighting seem like it's going to get me somewhere. It makes flirting appear like it's going to change her opinion of me and make her fall for me. I know, though, that once her hand is gone, I'm going to question this whole thing.

As if on an unspoken cue, she moves her hand away and turns back to her best friend. I'm never pleased when it comes to her, and I sigh again with discontent. I wish she'd just tell me that she doesn't like me. It would make getting over her so much easier on the both of us.

And if she does love me the way I love her, I wish she'd say something about that, too. I've always waited for a dream-come-true moment. That would be one of them.

If only you were not so blind, I think. I fucking love you.

Northern Downpour is over, and I start to think that maybe my life is like a CD, and right now I'm listening to Northern Downpour. Maybe, one day, I'll wind up in When The Day Met The Night. Maybe she and I could be the sun and the moon, and maybe we could fall in love.