Status: Finished
A Better Gift than This
It's not what you think it is...
I met Jim, but I call him James. He said, it's Jim, and sat opposite to me. He had curly hair, and unshaved complexion. He hummed for several minutes and asked for my name. Why? I said. Because I love you, his eyes fixed on mine. Any other girl would've believed him by the way his pupils clung to mine. He smoked his cigarette, I drank my whiskey straight. Apparently he believes the sexes are equal when taking liquor.
Somehow Jim ended reading the lines on my hands; he said I'd never get married. I raised an eyebrow, for I did not know what he meant. He showed me his giant palm, and pointed out that he did not possess a marriage line either, clearly we were destined to be together. I laughed. He had successfully charmed me.
That night he told me my hair smelled like honey, and that my lips tasted like wine. He was thirsty, and had some more of it. His lips were the flavor of life and his hair reeked of joy. I realized that my own was not like his.
I love you, he said again. I still did not believe him. Aren't you going to ask why? I smiled; he obviously wanted to enlist his reason for the love that had sprouted in the hours we had spent together. It is because you make me love myself, he said. It makes sense, I told him. For it's true that humans fall in love with themselves, that is why we are capable of falling in love with many other selfish beings like ourselves. Do you love me? He asked. I said yes without thinking; I don't believe in love…but I wanted to believe in him.
He said my fingers were held together by magic, I didn't even bother asking why, I already knew the answer to that, but how did he know? Maybe I should trust him. I trust him with my lips and torso, not with the cage within. He knows this, this is why he loves me, I suppose.
I don't pose a challenge, although I would like to think so. He likes to make believe I'm an enigma, and we end up being completely aware of each other's stupidities.
Jim wrote me a poem and I wrote him this story, his gift was better than mine. He took me by my magic fingers and took me out for a dance in the rain. We've been there ever since, his hair dripping of joy and mine of honey.
Somehow Jim ended reading the lines on my hands; he said I'd never get married. I raised an eyebrow, for I did not know what he meant. He showed me his giant palm, and pointed out that he did not possess a marriage line either, clearly we were destined to be together. I laughed. He had successfully charmed me.
That night he told me my hair smelled like honey, and that my lips tasted like wine. He was thirsty, and had some more of it. His lips were the flavor of life and his hair reeked of joy. I realized that my own was not like his.
I love you, he said again. I still did not believe him. Aren't you going to ask why? I smiled; he obviously wanted to enlist his reason for the love that had sprouted in the hours we had spent together. It is because you make me love myself, he said. It makes sense, I told him. For it's true that humans fall in love with themselves, that is why we are capable of falling in love with many other selfish beings like ourselves. Do you love me? He asked. I said yes without thinking; I don't believe in love…but I wanted to believe in him.
He said my fingers were held together by magic, I didn't even bother asking why, I already knew the answer to that, but how did he know? Maybe I should trust him. I trust him with my lips and torso, not with the cage within. He knows this, this is why he loves me, I suppose.
I don't pose a challenge, although I would like to think so. He likes to make believe I'm an enigma, and we end up being completely aware of each other's stupidities.
Jim wrote me a poem and I wrote him this story, his gift was better than mine. He took me by my magic fingers and took me out for a dance in the rain. We've been there ever since, his hair dripping of joy and mine of honey.
♠ ♠ ♠
Also posted at my fictionpress account, LLtIV.