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There's a soft light pouring through from the library window in a gentle spotlight, flecks of dust dance between the rays. I can feel its warmth before my bare feet even reach the floorboards that have been touched by the late morning light.
Coffee permeates the air and I can hear the clink and chink as your cup hits its saucer. I know it's Sunday because you always use that deep blue coffee set we found in that tiny shop that was brimming with oddities.
It was such a peculiar little shop that didn't really have an identity, and we stumbled into it while we were looking for somewhere to shelter from the rain. It was hidden down a narrow alleyway, and we were surprised it could've survived as long as it appeared it had, given the lack of foot traffic.
That week we spent in the rain and mud always gives me a sense of warmth somehow; you know the way you pull off wet heavy socks before slipping on new dry ones and your skin feels like it's being hugged. Those small moments amongst all the memories of that week always bring a gentle smile to my face.
I come to find you nestled in your chair that's positioned just so in front of the biggest window in the house. Your favourite blanket strewn across you in the way it always is; as if your right leg had had enough of being contained, even your sock had wiggled its way down, but your left one was always happy hibernating, tucked into the folds of the worn waffled fabric.
My hands slowly run over the back of the chair and onto your shoulders with a tender squeeze and silent hello. I lean over to kiss you gently on the forehead. Your left hand reaches up and holds my head against yours, holding me in this simple tender moment that tells me you are going to need a little more care today.
You release my head, but before I can even think to move your hand is grasping mine, telling me you're not ready for me to move away just yet.
Stay. Pause. Freeze-frame. Time can pass by us and leave us in this moment.
I can tell you finished reading the page you were on just after my lips left your head, but you didn't want to turn the page for now. I sink my head down beside yours, and you tilt yours against mine. I reach for the page and flip it over before reaching across your chest to hold you. To hold this moment of ours, together.
You exhale slowly, a sigh of relief and of surrender, and you deflate as if a release valve has been opened just enough to relieve the pressure. A slow hiss, from my slow kiss.
'The sea is particularly calm today...'
I hum a little, which has both acknowledgement and intrigue in its tone.
'…shall we make the most of it and walk along the beach?'
I add a little more pressure to my embrace, before releasing my arm and moving myself slowly round and down to be in front of you.
You're concentrating, the little furrow in your brow tells me you're back in that early 18th century world you love so dearly. I'm careful not to obstruct your view, for you to keep your place - you've read this book a hundred times, but I know it changes each time for you, each line is a little new.
I reach a hand up, tuck a few rogue hairs behind your ear and cradle your face, then wait to delicately pull your gaze towards mine.
Our eye contact has always been so vocal, singing its very own melody.
As your eyes move up to meet mine, a ray of light slowly sweeps across us, bouncing from you to me, you remove your glasses and as your eyes refocus to see me they sparkle with that broad content smile of yours filling up all the space between us.
'That... sounds perfect. Let's do that'
I lean in and pause, leaving nothing but a hair between our lips, you close your eyes and I kiss you deeply, like it was the first time all over again.
I pause a moment to grab just a little more of our song in your eyes and then turn towards the coffee. I feel your eyes follow me a little before heading back to the page and line you left.
I slowly pour coffee from the cafetière, adding a splash of milk and a cube of sugar to my cup. I stand close enough to you for your hand to reach and hold the back of my leg; it's one of your favourite places to touch.
I look out through the expansive frameless window and take a few sips of my coffee in quick succession before exhaling my own sigh of contentment that has a simultaneous acceptance that there are things to be done.
'I'll make us some tea for the walk while you finish Chapter 10, then we can head out'
You hum melodically and nod without looking away from the page.
I hope it rains, I think to myself while glancing at you. The sound of rain always calms your soul.
Reflection
I had imagined parts of this over the last month or so. Different photos, songs, poems, scenes in TV shows or movies have been working their way through my subconscious, adding to already floating thoughts and ideas in my mind.
I recently re-watched Lessons in Chemistry and this seemed to be the last piece to bring it all into focus. At around midnight I began writing how I envisioned this everyday moment starting.
I had to find the photo below, but I didn’t want to share it as the hero image because it might have influenced the colours, scenery and atmosphere found above.
I’d love to hear from you!
Did you enjoy the voiceover? What did you see in your mind and what did you feel when reading or listening to this piece:
What type of chair did you picture? What colour was it?
What colour was the blanket and the sock?
Did you hear any music? What was it?
Was this piece a balm for you today?
“There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison”
- Jane Austen, Persuasion
I felt the intimacy, respect and love as a I read through this - that tugged at me the most. "The rogue hairs"... the tiniest details make it more special.
I love all the personal-feeling details, like the way the narrator knows it's Sunday because of the cup their partner is using, and the way that the back of the narrator's leg is one of their partner's favourite places to touch. It feels like you wrote the vignette with the same level of care they take with each other.