Nightdreaming

He sat at night, and he couldn't stop thinking about her.

His fingers traced the rim of a whiskey glass. He had necked that whiskey, trying to bury the feelings that threatened to devour him. Now, he once again filled his glass. Once again he downed the brown nectar.

Yet still his fingers trembled. She was like a virus, a compulsion - a drug addiction.

A need he couldn't shake.

A bet he couldn't win.

A race he couldn't run.

She was a taste on the tip of his tongue. An itch deep under his skin that he couldn't scratch, couldn't get CLOSE to. She was inside the skin, and yet depleting him at the same time.

He felt utterly alone in his feelings. But proud. Like a lone wolf. He wasn't part of a pack. He stood alone. He held his chin high as he downed another short of the forgetful juice. Why couldn't he FORGET?

*

The thing was, she was feeling the same.

She sat at night, her brain full of fever for him. She wasn't technically sick. Her mother had taken her temperature and shaken her head in confusion at the readings. Her body temperature was absolutely normal. Yet she laid moaning, sweating, having cold compresses placed on her fevered brow every half an hour, day and night.

There was heat running through her, and it came from her heart, her loins. He was heat, racing through her body, warming her from the inside out.

He was the tonic, the balm for all ailments of the soul, for dis-ease of the heart.

He was the water quenching a deep thirst. He was the arms around her, cocooning her and keeping her warm and safe. As she laid sickly and delirious, she kept his face in her mind, just about. He was the only thing she could visualise in her delirium.

All other thoughts fluttered away, couldn't be caught or focused on. They drifted like burning paper in a breeze, glowing red hot briefly before turning black and dying away. But his face. HIS face. That was the face she saw watching her. Those dark eyes, hooded beneath heavy brows, steeped in intense feeling. Flecks of silver. And THAT look. The one that made her melt inside, made her submit to him instantly, no matter how much she previously had not wanted to.

He was the one looking deep into her soul, seeing her messes and her complexities, and loving her despite himself.

*

He looked into her eyes which were equally dark, and it freaked him, because she saw him too. She knew him, his failings, his vulnerabilities. She understood him, and she felt him even when they weren't together. She felt what he felt. And he sensed what she sensed too.

*

He was in the wind.

Falling with the rain.

Caressing her skin via the breeze.

Kissing her through the air that surrounded her.

He held the kisses in the night that made her come alive, igniting her passion at all hours, both insatiable for each other.

Finding each other in the dark, arms and legs in contact always, sensing closeness like blind people whose other senses are heightened, their bodies somehow magnetised towards each other.

Unquestioning, unfathomable, irresistible.

They were each other's fuel, and it was fucking wonderful.