Saturday, December 14, 2013

The Wrist

Callum bent down and took her hand softly in his. They were so small and soft in his large, rough hands. Pale and warm, he felt like there was a fragile magic between them, like glass, and if he moved too sudden or too far, it would shatter and she would disappear. Slowly, oh so achingly slow, he turned her wrist over and rubbed his thumb, just one, on her wrist, the one with the writing on it. He tried to read the words, the letters so foreign yet familiar to him. Her breath caught as his thumb barely stroked them. Their eyes met. There was only this moment between them. A small thread, thin as a silken strand of hair pulled them closer. His other hand moved just as slowly, touching her cheek as delicately as if she were spun sugar and  he were rain. His thumb touched the corner of her lips and he watched mesmerized as her eye lids floated down, her face turning toward his hand. The quiet stillness between them was filled with question. With a moment of hesitation Callum bent to where his thumb was on her wrist and kissed it. The sigh from her lips was music to his soul. Something he had never heard, not expected. He wanted to continue up her arm to her lips, but this was a dance she led, he would follow. And so he continued to plant kisses on her wrist until she pulled him to her and kissed him, hesitantly, right where his thumb had caressed her lips. She opened her eyes. There was something undeniable in them. Callum wasn't the only one that felt the fragile bond between them.

"What does it say?" he asked as quietly and slowly as he could, hoping to keep the moment alive. She looked down at his thumb tracing the words written there. They were a painful reminder of her past. But it was the past.
"It says, 'you are not alone.'" He nodded as if he understood. And Callum did understand. Maybe not what the words meant to her personally, but how they could be significant to anyone.
"It's beautiful," he told her, meaning the tattoo.
"Yes, it is," she agreed meaning the sentiment.

The magic still held them and she leaned into him. His thumb left her face, and his arm encircled her, only gently pulling her to him. She was feather light, leaning against him. Her sigh again spoke to his soul and he could only just stay himself from robbing her lips of all he wanted. Instead, he lifted her face, and with the promise of the gentleness and restraint shown in all his touches, he breathed against her lips, a whisper, the wings of a butterfly, a soft breeze. A promise was made. "You are not alone."

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