The Crinkled Letter

The lamplight was switched off as I settled underneath the warmth of the covers. The sound of his gentle breathing draws nearer as he lowers his body beside me and wraps his arms around my waist. Even in the dark, I know his eyes are searching for my own. I feel his gaze and extend my hand forward until my fingers brush against his lower jaw, bearing the contradiction that is a rough lining of stubble against his soft skin. As I settle my palm on his cheek and rest my forehead against his, I close my eyes and think about how we won't have a moment like this for a long time. I try to respond to his soothing sigh of "I love you" with the same calm emotion with which he is embracing this moment, but only manage to croak back the same three words in a shaky tone. I want to believe that my senses are helping me to fully grasp the beauty of this moment, but I begin to delve back to the mental picture of me extending my hand out to him only to be met by the coldness of the car window as my parents back out of the driveway of our little blue house. Everything is blue. The sadness hanging on the tear that rolls down my face, the overcast sky I imagine to be consuming the sun, and the color of his polo that becomes smeared into the background that I stare at until I can't see him any more. 
This 
Won't
Go away. 
I feel him tangle his fingers in my hair as he guides me toward his face. Our noses brush against one another. An eskimo kiss. He lowers his chin and his lips meet mine. And it's a real kiss. A soft, "i'm-pouring -my-heart-out-to you" kiss that only he can give to me. And I reach a point where I can't stop myself. I bury my face into his shirt and begin to cry. It takes him a moment to realize this, but when he does, his hand wiping away the tears falling from my thick lashes feels as comforting as ever. He keeps smoothing away teardrops and sharing his special kisses with me, telling me without words that everything will be alright. That what we have together is more than just a teenage romance. 

I lie my head against his chest and we talk about our future as we have countless times before. I hear his heartbeat as I ask him for a new promise so that I can remember him in a way that words can manifest. I finally decide that he tastes like ice melting on the tip of your tongue: cool, pure, comforting; and smells like a walk through a beautiful forest after rainfall on a summer's day: the smell of morning dew on the leaves of plants growing toward the blue skies. I feel his eyelashes kissing my cheeks as I whisper these words to him. He listens, which is what he does best, holding my words on the tip of his tongue. He tells me that he doesn't really have words to give me, but him being there next to me is enough. We hold each other and kiss one another so passionately for a while longer, but we won't become one until the day wedding bells ring. We say this tonight as we have done countless times before until it's time to sleep. 

I tell a quick story that I'd read once before, hoping that it will sum up my feelings for him in a way that I never could. I struggle to remember its origin: Greek, Roman, Norse? A variation of the fall of man. There once was a time where the gods ruled the earth. Everything they created was good and perfect, except for man, who fully believed that they were the best creature woven by the gods'  hands: with two heads, four arms, and four legs. But man was not grateful for the beautiful world they lived in, so the gods grew angry. Seeking to teach feeble humans the meaning of love and fulfillment and respect, the gods split humans in two and left them to spend the rest of their lives in search of their other halves.

 Our time together ends as it began: with a kiss. The gentle flutter of his lips on my hand tucks me in, and stays on my mind. It makes me think about our promise, and the way my lips will rest across the crease of the folded letter, crinkled from every time I open it to think about him.